“The chase he gave us. You don’t mean you haven’t heard about it!”
Burgess clasped his hands behind his head and yawned.
“I’ve told you repeatedly, Hill, that I don’t read criminal news. It would spoil the fun of hearing you explain your own failures.”
“Well, I won’t bore you with this. I only want you to understand that it was the police who made a fluke of it. But I can’t deny those Murdocks do interest me a good deal.”
He bent his keen eyes upon the banker for a second and grinned. Burgess returned the grin.
“I’ve got to speak before the Civic League on our municipal government tomorrow night, and I’ll throw something about the general incompetence of our police force—it’s undoubtedly rotten!”
The detective lingered.
“By-the-way, I nearly overlooked this. Seems to be a silver card-case, with your name neatly engraved on the little tickets inside. I picked it up on the ice last night when I was skating on the canal. I’m going to keep one of the cards as a souvenir.”
“Perfectly welcome, Tom. You’d better try one of these cigars.”
Hill chose a cigar with care from the extended box and lighted it. Burgess swung round to his desk, turned over some letters, and then looked up as though surprised to find the detective still there.