Armstrong mentioned Evarts, who would be able to place the operatives.
"All right. Now, what you got to be afraid of in the past?"
"Nothing."
"Aw, come clean! Macgowan is goin' to rake hell with a fine-toothed comb the minute he gets wise that you're after him. Where'd you come from? Ever arrested?"
Armstrong laughed. "No."
He gave a brief sketch of his life to date. When he had finished, Dorns nodded.
"You're lucky, me lad. Well, I guess we're all set to go! Work out some plan of action with Mansfield. When I get Wren here, we'll start to use our heads; meantime, get Q. Adams to work."
Armstrong had entered Robert Dorns' office with the feeling of a crushed and overwhelmed man fighting against fate. He left with something of his old self restored. Once more he was cool, level-headed, clear-brained. He was no longer daunted by his situation. The worst of the blow was past; now there remained to fight.
At seven that evening, he entered the Union League Club. Mansfield joined him in the reception room, shook hands, and led him to the elevator.
"Come to one of the library rooms, where we can talk in peace."