"You'll take my advice?"
"I didn't come here to talk baseball."
Dorns grinned at that, and turned to his desk telephone. He called a number.
"Robert Dorns talking; give me Mr. Mansfield," he said curtly. Then, after a pause: "Hello! This you, Q. Adams? Dorns on the wire. Say, did you ever know me to go wrong on a man?"
He paused, chuckled, then went on:
"I'm sending a man up to see you. Name's Armstrong. It ain't law he needs; he's a lawyer himself. What he needs is you, and all you got! Him and you and I are going to bust Lawrence Macgowan. Think we can do it?"
He glanced over the instrument at Armstrong, a whimsical glance, and grinned.
"Willin' to try the impossible, huh? All right. When and where?"
An instant later he grunted, pushed aside the telephone, swung his chair around, and faced Armstrong.
"You go see Quincy Adams Mansfield at seven o'clock, Union League Club, and talk to him like you've just talked to me, see? Now let's get to work, me lad. This man of yours, Wren. Where is he?"