“How do you know they're going to break into the house to-night?” he demanded of Burke; “or do you only think they're going to break into the house?”
“I know they are.” The Inspector's harsh voice brought out the words boastfully. “I fixed it.”
“You did!” There was wonder in the magnate's exclamation.
“Sure,” Burke declared complacently, “did it through a stool-pigeon.”
“Oh, an informer,” Gilder interrupted, a little doubtfully.
“Yes,” Burke agreed. “Stool-pigeon is the police name for him. Really, he's the vilest thing that crawls.”
“But, if you think that,” Gilder expostulated, “why do you have anything to do with that sort of person?”
“Because it's good business,” the Inspector replied. “We know he's a spy and a traitor, and that every time he comes near us we ought to use a disinfectant. But we deal with him just the same—because we have to. Now, the stool-pigeon in this trick is a swell English crook. He went to Garson yesterday with a scheme to rob your house. He tried out Mary Turner, too, but she wouldn't stand for it—said it would break the law, which is contrary to her principles. She told Garson to leave it alone. But he met Griggs afterward without her knowing anything about it, and then he agreed to pull it off. Griggs got word to me that it's coming off to-night. And so, you see, Mr. Gilder, that's how I know. Do you get me?”
“I see,” Gilder admitted without any enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, he felt somewhat offended that his house should be thus summarily seized as a trap for criminals.
“But why do you have your men come down over the roof?” he inquired curiously.