“Called by Carpenter?” questioned the mayor.
“Couldn’t have been,” declared Yates. “Morton had Carpenter covered. We figure they went up there, knowing that something phony was going on. Out to get the dough that Carpenter was taking.
“They killed the detectives, but those fellows put up a fine battle. There was still a lot of shooting when my men arrived.
“Morton’s all right, and we think his secretary, Gorman, will pull through. We’ve got the shorthand notes. Everything needed to give Carpenter a ride for attempted blackmail. The gang — what’s left of them — are held on a murder charge.”
“Did any of them get away?” asked Cruikshank.
“One man seems to have,” responded Yates, in a regretful tone. “He was seen outside the window. No traces of him yet. Anyhow, he doesn’t matter. The big point is, the dopesters have slid out — like rats.”
“You have traced their source of supply?” asked Cruikshank.
“No,” admitted Yates, “but there’s no more coming in. We’ve killed the racket. We’re looking for a fellow called Shifter Reeves. But, more than that, I’ve got another man I’m looking for—”
“Hooks Borglund?” asked a committeeman.
“You’ve been reading the papers, eh?” grinned Yates. “No — it’s a bigger guy we’re after. Wheels Bryant is his name.”