"As soon as I've looked things over carefully," said he, "you'll hear me at your door."
"Thank you, again," she said. "And good-bye."
And as the door closed behind her, Bat Scanlon stood in the middle of the floor, his arms folded across his big chest.
"Cop stuff," said he, to himself. "What do you think of that?"
When he returned once more to the room in which he had left the others, Scanlon found Dennison buttoning up his top-coat.
"I'll be in to-morrow," said the man; "and my togs will be sent around to-day."
When he had departed, Scanlon looked at Ashton-Kirk.
"I guess you'll have to take your work-out with the big Greek," said he. "Stanwick's my next stop; and I'm going to get the first train."
"Stanwick?" Ashton-Kirk's keen eyes regarded him inquiringly.
"Funny thing, ain't it? Here I didn't know a thing about this murder, and then I get it piled in on me from two places. That was Tom Burton's wife just in to see me—Nora Cavanaugh."