The operative glanced about the reading-room. He blinked at the glowing electrics. He recovered his voice as he drew in a deep breath which bulged his chest to barrel proportions.
“I went,” he said huskily. “I went to Gramercy Hill Exchange. Found the superintendent.... Fellow, you told me to find, Chief ... I draws him to one side.... I asked about this trouble-hunter.... He ups like I’d hit him.... He says fellow quit to-day.... Says fellow.... Says he was no good.... Says he was tapping joints instead of soldering them. Says he only hired him on account of the shortage of electricians and helpers ... because of the last Army draft.”
“Did you get his address?”
“I got it, Chief.... It is over on Fifty-third Street near the River.... I didn’t go.... I wanted to see you first.... There’s more.”
“Out with it!”
“The superintendent says he never sent that trouble-hunter over here last night.... There’s a record of sending another man named Frisby.”
“Did you see—Frisby?”
“I did, Chief.”
“What did he say?” Drew’s fingers had clutched the operative’s arm. “What did he say?” he repeated grimly.
“Said, that Albert—that’s the trouble-hunter—had stopped him on the way over here and took his place.... Said, he was satisfied.... Albert could have all the jobs on a night like last night. That’s just what Frisby said, Chief!”