Harrigan flushed slightly. He leaned over and laid the paper upon the desk. Drew took it, folded it with two fingers forming the creases, then crammed it into his breast pocket The roll-top came down with a bang. Harrigan lifted an overcoat from a tree, helped Drew on with it, and found the detective’s hat.
“When will you be back, Chief?” he inquired.
“Hard to say! Get me some French-gray powder. A little will do. I’m going to see if I can get any fingerprints in that booth. They might help!”
“Will you be back by night!” Harrigan asked, leading the way through the door.
“Don’t know! Get that powder! Tell Delaney, if he calls up, that I’m hot after my man. Tell him to stick up where he is, till he hears from me. Tell Flynn, when he comes in from Morristown, that he can relieve O’Toole who is trailing Harry Nichols. I don’t think there is much in that. I’m covering every one—that’s all.”
Harrigan opened the drawer of a cabinet and fingered about till he found a small, round box of gray powder used for preserving fingerprints. He turned with this and saw that Drew had crammed into his side coat-pocket, a flat camera which the telephone girl brought to him. “Got flash lights?” asked Harrigan.
“Yes. There’s some in the back of this camera.” Drew slapped his overcoat. “I got everything, I guess. Remember about Delaney and Flynn.”
The detective moved toward the door which led to the hallway where the elevators were. He turned as Harrigan laid a hand on his shoulder. “What’s that sticking out of your other pocket, Chief?” asked the assistant-manager. “A paper, ain’t it?”
Drew flushed beneath his olive skin. He pressed the object down with soft fingers. He turned and said simply:
“That’s a picture of the girl in the case. Forgot I had it. Good-by!”