He nodded to Jim. "Come along," he said. "I'll have to keep you here awhile."
"That's all right," Jim said airily. "I wish I could send a telephone message. Don't see what harm there is in that."
"No, there's no harm in that," said the detective, "providing the person you wish to talk to is a decent sort."
"It's Leffingwell—Leffingwell who is Chairman of all the city committees," said Jim proudly. "Look up his number yourself."
The detective did so. Jim called and began speaking.
"Say, is this Mr. Leffingwell?" he asked. "No, I don't want no
Timmons. I want Mr. Leffingwell."
Jim smiled wickedly into the receiver. "Well, say, young feller, I'm surprised you don't know me. This is J. P. Morgan speaking'. I want sell—Huh? Oh, y-y-yes, Sir. Why, yes, sir, Mr. Leffingwell. I thought I was talking to some fresh guy on the phone. Excuse me, Sir! Yes, sir! I have news for you. I'm here at the Park Hospital with a fare what got stabbed. No, sir, it's not a boy. He's a little thin man. I know where the boys is, and they want help. Yes, Sir! My car is right here, but I'm been' detained. Yes, sir, they won't let me go 'til the young feller gets better or croaks."
The detective cut in. "Does he want you to come there?"
"He sure does that!" said Jim.
The detective took the receiver. He told Mr. Leffingwell the circumstances.