"There was a man killed an' robbed over on East Twentieth Street last night, and some of the fellers said you was down to headquarters tellin' the police all about it."
"And it was the murderers I saw this morning!" Jet repeated aloud, astounded by the knowledge that he had possibly assisted the guilty ones to hide the evidences of their crime.
"Then you was in it!" the fat boy exclaimed.
"Now don't be a fool! I carried a bag for some men this morning, but that's all I know about it. Who was the murdered man?"
"It's all in that paper Sankey left in his overcoat pocket. Get it an' you have the whole story. I wonder why they don't put you in jail?"
Before Jet could reply to this question he was ordered to the desk, and from there sent to answer a call from the Union Square Hotel.
Evidently it was not one of the regular patrons of the house who had summoned him.
He found a gentlemanly looking party standing just outside the clerk's desk, who appeared particularly pleased on observing the number on his cap.
"I want you to go with me to Yonkers, and bring back certain papers which must be delivered before six o'clock. Can you go so far?"
"I will run over to the office and find out. You see I haven't been on the force very long, and don't know exactly what to do when the work will keep me so long away."