"I'm expected to fasten this crime on Scott?" he inquired. "Is that what your company requires?"
"Fasten the crime on the guilty man!" replied the aggressive Mr. Wicks. "If Scott didn't do it, we'll pay the claim. If he did, we'll send him to the chair. It may not be murder at all."
"Of course," said Garrison. "Who wrote this report?"
"What's that to you?" said Wicks.
"I wondered why the writer drops out of the case," answered Garrison.
"That's all."
"I wrote it," said Wicks. "Scott knows me from the former case. If you want the case, you will start this evening for Hickwood and begin your work. Use your own devices. Report everything promptly—everything. Go at once to the office and present your card for expenses and typed instructions. Good-day!"
He had clapped on his hat. He strode to the door, opened it, disappeared, and closed it again as if he worked on springs. Garrison was left staring at the knob, his hand mechanically closed on the statement intrusted to his keeping.
"Well," he said, "I'll be scalloped! Good old New York!"
He was presently out upon the street, a brisk, active figure, boarding a
Broadway car for the downtown office of the company.
At half past five he was back once more in his office with a second hundred dollars in his pocket, fifty of which was for expenses.