"Yes."
"And what did they prognosticate?"
"That you and I would promise Mr. Steingall not to spoil any scheme he may have in mind by interfering at an inopportune moment."
"I suppose I ought to feel crushed, but I don't," said Devar.
"My dear fellow, if it hadn't been for you and your loyal championship at the right moment, I might easily have been in jail as an accomplice of the unknown scoundrels who killed Mr. Hunter."
"That's the right kind of remark," broke in the detective. "I think I'll offer each of you a post in the Bureau after this business is ended."
"Give me a pointer on one matter," said Devar. "You spoke of Schmidt's clients. Who are they?"
He whistled softly when he heard the names of Valletort and Vassilan and de Courtois.
"Up to the neck in it again!" he crowed. "Oh, it's me that is the happy youth because I blew in to New York at the right time yesterday."
Otto Schmidt's office was in Madison Square, perched high above the clatter of 23d Street. The windows of the lawyer's private sanctum commanded magnificent views of the city to south and west, and in that marvelously clear air the Statue of Liberty seemed to be little more than a mile away, while the villas of Montclair and houses on other heights in the neighboring State were distinctly visible.