That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, the reporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits.
"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat.
"Got whom?"
"Morrissy—Morrissy and McQuade," said Osborne, in his whisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this," tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk.
Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out the richness of his possession.
"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly.
"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the country to visit relatives," said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'll have to find the girl another job in some other town."
"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousand more to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant in town and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you have them call me up if there's any question."
The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw their appetites appeased to satiety.
"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan.