But Dennis had risen and stalking to the counter he took up the ’phone. Presently McCarty heard his voice raised in a harrowing description of pain but it was abruptly cut short, and, after listening for a moment with a dazed look on his face, he silently replaced the receiver and returned to his chair.
“Well?” demanded McCarty expectantly.
“Mike’s out of the hospital and he’ll take my nine-to-six shift.”
“But just what did the lieutenant say to you?”
“He told me,” Dennis replied very slowly and distinctly, “to get the hell off the ’phone, for I’d be no good at a false alarm while my crook-chasing side-kick McCarty was on the job again. I gathered from a few more remarks before he hung up on me that your friend Jimmie Ballard of the ‘Bulletin’ has been nosing around the engine house, to get dope from me about what you’re pulling off, and by that same token running the lieutenant ragged; ’tis what I get for associating with you.”
It was McCarty’s turn to eye his companion suspiciously but Dennis’ stolid countenance was quite devoid of humor and he retorted:
“Is that so? Well, we’d better be associating ourselves with the Goddards again now or there’ll be no news for Jimmie or the inspector either, which is worse. Come on.”
“Unless the boy is found as Hughes was,” Dennis suggested optimistically. “It would let the Lindholms out, but who except a lunatic would be poisoning children and servants, promiscuous-like?”
McCarty’s reply was a stare and a grunt which the other construed as derisive and he lapsed into aggrieved silence as they made their way once more to the gates, behind which so much mystery and menace brooded.
Trafford opened the door almost before the bell had ceased to echo through the house and his haggard face was mute evidence that the suspense had not been lifted.