“Gwan,” chuckled Hardy. “Your paper has already spread itself some on that line. In fact, it’s said just a leetle too much,” remembering the furore Gordon’s arrest had made, and the attendant abuse heaped on the detective force for not making more headway with the case.
“Pshaw! Hardy, you know the paper has to cater to the public, and Washington has gone wild over the murder. I’ve had to write columns and give ’em all sorts of theories, but none hold water.”
“’Course not. We’ve got the guilty man under lock and key.”
“Hum! Found the weapon yet?”
A look of chagrin crossed Hardy’s face. “Naw, damn it!” he growled. “Mr. Gordon sure hid it safely; threw it down an open street sewer most likely.”
“How about Nelson?”
“Nelson? Oh! he’s doing time for house-breaking; so we’ve got him dead to rights if we find he’s wanted for the murder. Sorry, sir,” glancing as he spoke at the clock over the City Post Office, “but I’ve got to beat it quick.” Then, lowering his voice, “I’ve a bit of news which may surprise some folks. Come round in a day or two and I’ll let you in on it.”
“Here, wait,” shouted Dick, making a futile dive for Hardy’s coat as he swung himself aboard a south-bound car.
“What are you wasting so much energy for, Dick?” asked a hearty voice at his elbow. Dick swung around with a jump.
“Why, where in —— did you drop from?” he gasped, hardly able to credit his senses as the newcomer seized his hand and wrung it vigorously.