"Where to?" asked Bat.
"There is a taxi station near here," said the investigator; "we'll need a cab."
They walked through the silent street and finally saw the illuminated sign of a garage; they got into a cab, Ashton-Kirk saying:
"Police headquarters."
The taxi rolled rapidly on its way; block after block was passed. Bat endeavored to reopen the matter of his finding the investigator in the house they had just left, but Ashton-Kirk did not seem disposed to talk; he sat in one corner of the cab, apparently deep in thought. At length they brought up before the enormous pile in which the police, together with other municipal departments, had their headquarters. Their feet echoed hollowly as they walked through the marble corridor; a drowsy elevator man ran them up to the desired floor, and in a moment more they were in the department devoted to the detective branch of the police.
A man with a deeply-marked face and iron-gray hair sat at a desk.
"Hello, Scanlon!" greeted he, affably.
"How are you, Sarge?" replied Bat. "Doing your little night trick, eh?"
"Yes." The old plain-clothes man yawned a little. "Nothing exciting in it, either; hasn't been a thing stirred since I came on." Then with an indication of interest: "But maybe you've got something that'll help keep us awake."
"Osborne," said Ashton-Kirk. "Is he here?"