The old headquarters man bent his brows at the shabby figure; the slouch, the leering look, the head aggressively thrust forward, marked it plainly as of the class against which he had been pitted for years.
"Yes," he replied, briefly.
"We'd like to see him."
"Right through the door," said the veteran detective.
The two passed through the door indicated, and saw the burly figure of Osborne, comfortably installed in an easy chair, reading a newspaper.
"Hello," said he, sitting erect. "That you, Scanlon?"
"Me, with a friend." Bat grinned, highly entertained. "He wants to have a little talk with you, I think."
Osborne examined the figure before him attentively. Ashton-Kirk leaned against the office rail, his hands in his pockets, the rat-like thief to the life. The detective examined him carefully, but no ray of recognition came into his face. Then, like throwing off a garment, Ashton-Kirk allowed the mannerisms he had assumed to drop from him. Osborne at once sat erect with a laugh of pleasure at his own lack of penetration.
"Good!" said he. "You almost fooled me." He arose and shook the criminologist's hand. "But what's the idea?"
"I've just been paying a little visit," replied Ashton-Kirk. He seated himself upon the edge of a desk. "Anything new?" he asked.