"Jumped his bail," the detective growled—"along with the others you rounded up for me that night at Mrs. McFee's."
"And you have never been able to find him?"
"Not a chance."
There was bitterness in that to win a quick, keen look from Lanyard; but Crane added nothing more than a grin half-sheepish, half-sullen.
"He must be shrewder than I thought, that one."
"I don't know . . . he's got brains enough to lay low and stand in with Morphew, that's all."
"And the devil takes care of his own."
"You got the idea exactly."
"But tell me, why does this great city of yours tolerate its Morphews?"
"What's it going to do? You can't pin anything on a guy like Morphew; he always keeps well inside the law, never turns a trick with his own hand; and pulls too strong an oar politically not to be able to look after the people he hires to do his dirty work. Stands to reason, he's got to; he can't afford to risk somebody's turning State's evidence for lack of protection."