"Who are they?" Bristow asked, interested. "How do they happen to be working for you?"
"They belong to a private bureau here, Golson's. Golson and I have worked together before."
In the elevator Bristow was thinking that the matter of becoming a professional detective was not as simple as it had appeared to him. The work required colleagues, assistants, "shadowers," and reciprocal arrangements with bureaus in other cities. It was like any other profitable business, complicated, demanding constant attention.
When they met at breakfast, Braceway had already received Platt's report.
"Nothing developed last night," he told Bristow. "Platt followed Morley, who went straight to his home. He and his mother live in a little house far out on R Street northwest. Morley took the street car and was home by a little after half-past eleven. The lights were all out by a quarter past twelve. This morning at six-thirty, when Delaney relieved Platt, our man hadn't left the house."
"What's your guess about today?"
"Either he'll go to the bank on time this morning, to throw off suspicion," said Braceway, "or, if he mailed the jewelry to himself here the night of the murder, he'll try to pawn them in Baltimore or at a pawnshop in Virginia, just across the river. There are no pawnshops in Washington. There's a law that interferes."
"Delaney won't lose him?"
"Not a chance."
During the meal he saw that Bristow was completely worn out. As a matter of fact, he looked actually sick.