“Do you mind telling me who your friend is?” asked the detective.
Dodd shot him a sour side-glance and muttered profanity.
“I couldn't help wondering what particular kind of business you and he could have, seeing how it was transacted,” pursued the detective.
Dodd glowered at the floor. “Look here, Mullaney! There's a whole lot about that man I want to know, if you can help me and keep your mouth closed. I haven't got much confidence in the work you fellows do—they tell me you can't detect mud on your own boots.”
Mr. Mullaney pulled his chair out from behind the papers and leaned back in it and crossed his hands over his stomach and smiled without a trace of resentment.
“I might tell you something right now about that tall friend of yours that would jump you, Mr. Dodd—I'm that much of a detective!”
“Tell me, then.”
“Just as it stands it's guesswork—considerable guesswork.”
“What does that amount to?”
“A great deal in my business. Take this city of one hundred thousand! I'm the only man in it who is making guesswork about strangers his special line of work. The rest of the citizens rub elbows with all passers and don't give a hoot. There are a good many thousand men in this country whom the law wants and whom the law can't find. That fellow may be one of them, for all I know. I guess he is, for instance. Then I make it my business to prove guesswork.”