"McCarthy, have you been closing promptly at midnight on Saturday night?" demanded O'Leary. "That's a bad law to break, you know."
"I've been lawful," returned the barkeep. "And I'll watch me step in the future."
McDowell laughed and he and the Doc left the place.
Back at the station, reporters met them with questions. McDowell held up a hand. "Look, boys," he said with a grin, "this may be something you can print. It may also be an attempt to ridicule the force. I'll tell you this much: There was a guy apparently wearing feathers instead of hair that started a riot in McCarthy's on Boylston a little while ago. Now if you'll hold off phoning that in until we check, we'll tell you whether the guy was wearing feathers—or growing them! Also—whether he was human. Mind waiting?"
"We'll wait," came the chorused reply.
"Whatcha going to use for lead?" asked one reporter of another.
"I don't know yet. It depends whether he was having a frat initiation or was really one of our fine feathered friends."
McDowell followed the doctor in—and the reporters followed the lieutenant in. Gag or not, thought McDowell, these guys will be as good to me as I am to them. And if it is a gag, we'll show 'em that we know how to find out about such, anyway.
Doc ignored the room teeming with people, and went to work. He made test after test, and then pored through a couple of volumes from his bookcase. Finally he gave that up and faced the group, casting a glance at McDowell.