"Don't you want to come too, Bessie?" Greg grimly asked.
"I'll stop in me kitchen, thankee," said she dryly. "Very like you'll be wantin' hot cawfee when you come home, and maybe bandages."
Greg laughed. "Sorry, you fellows," he said to Bull and Ginger, "I can't use you right now. We'd only get in each other's light. But God knows what this night may turn up. You stay home—I'll make it good to you——"
"Ah, we don't want no pay," growled Bull.
"—And if I can use you later I'll send a 'phone message through the drug-store."
Hickey was out in the yard getting the flivver ready. They heard a cry from him, and he appeared at the door with an angry and grief-stricken face.
"Who cut my car?" he demanded.
Greg ran out and flashed his pocket-light inside the body of the car. A woeful sight was revealed; seat and back of the seat, pockets, even the carpet had been wantonly slashed right and left by the disappointed men in their vain search for the little black book. There was something indecent in the sight, as of an old person mutilated. The men crowding to look swore under their breaths.
"All right," said Greg grimly. "They shall pay for this with the rest. Come on now. We're wasting precious time."