"We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle. This gentleman says something's been goin' on here for the past month to his certain knowledge,—"
"Just a moment," broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering the lower part of his face with his hand,—that being the nearest he could come, under the circumstances, to emulating the maladroit ostrich. "I will call Mr.—"
"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling.
"Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now, you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of victory was in his eye.
"What's that!" roared the cop.
"Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's a card game or—even worse—going on upstairs. I've had the place watched. All kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular nights every week,—the rottenest lot of men and women I've—"
"Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled to the top landing.
"Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery filled the vision of two policemen.
"For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of laughter. "What is it?"
"Well, of all the—" began the other.