“Recognize it!” Meighan laughed low, and, stepping past Kenleigh to the desk, picked up the telephone, and called Headquarters. “Recognise it!” With the receiver to his ear, waiting for his connection, he turned toward Kenleigh. “Why, say, walk over to the Bowery and show it to the first person you meet, and he’d call the turn. Pretty, isn’t it? When he’s dolled up, he’s some—hello!” He swung around to the telephone. “Headquarters?... Meighan speaking from Kenleigh’s apartment... Get a drag out for the Magpie on the jump.... Eh?... Yes!... Left his visiting card.... What?... Yes, wound a mattress around the box and souped it; his scarf pin must have caught in the ticking and pulled out.... Sure, that’s the one—the horseshoe—found it on the floor.... What?... Yes, the chances are ten to one he will, it’s his only play.... All right, I’ll get Mr. Kenleigh’s story meanwhile.... I’ll be here till you 'phone.... Yes.... All right!”
Meighan hung up the receiver, sat down in a chair, and motioned toward another that was close alongside the desk.
“Turn out the light, Mr. Kenleigh,” he said abruptly; “and sit down here.”
Kenleigh looked his amazement.
“Turn out the light?” he repeated perplexedly.
“Yes,” Meighan nodded. “And at once, please.”
Obeying mechanically, Kenleigh moved toward the electric-light switch. There was a faint click, and the apartment was in darkness. Came then the sound of Kenleigh making his way back across the room, and settling himself in the chair beside the detective.
“I—I don’t quite see,” said Kenleigh, a little nervously. “I—”
“You will in a minute,” interrupted Meighan, in a low voice. “Don’t make any noise now, and don’t speak much above a whisper. That little glass stick pin is worth twenty years to the Magpie. See? When he finds that he has lost it, he’ll take any risk to make sure that he didn’t lose it here. Get the idea? It would plant him for keeps, and nobody knows it any better than he does.”
“You mean he’ll come back here?” whispered Kenleigh eagerly.