"Told with a remarkable feeling for detail," added Mr. Magee. "In fact, it seems to me that only one of the two participants in it could remember all the fine points so well. Mr. Max, you don't exactly look like Mark Dennen to me, therefore—if you will pardon the liberty—"
"I get you," replied Max sadly. "The same old story. Suspicion—suspicion everywhere. It does a lot of harm, believe me. I wouldn't—"
He jumped from his chair and disappeared, for the voice of Cargan had hailed him from below. Mr. Magee and the professor with one accord followed. Hiding in the friendly shadows of the landing once again, they heard the loud tones of the mayor's booming voice, and the softer tones of Bland's.
"How about this?" bellowed the mayor. "Hayden's squealed. Phones to Bland—not to me. Whines about the courts—I don't know what rot. He's squealed. He didn't phone the combination."
"The rat!" screamed Mr. Max.
"By the Lord Harry," said the mayor, "I'll have it open, anyhow. I've earned what's in there, fair and—I've earned it. I'm going to have it, Max."
"See here, Cargan—" put in Mr. Bland.
"Keep out of the way, you," cried Cargan. "And put away that pop-gun before you get hurt. I'm going to have what's mine by justice. That safe comes open to-night. Max, get your satchel."
Mr. Magee and the professor turned and ascended to the second floor. In front of number seven they paused and looked into each other's eyes. Professor Bolton shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to bed," he said, "and I advise you to do the same."