Mr. Waddington groaned in sheer bitterness of spirit. The irony of things afflicted him sorely. Every day the papers talked about the Crime Wave: every day a thousand happy crooks were making off in automobiles with a thousand bundles of swag: and yet here he was, in urgent need of one of these crooks, and he didn't know where to look for him.
A deprecating tap sounded on the door.
"Come in!" shouted Mr. Waddington irritably.
He looked up and perceived about seventy-five inches of bony policeman shambling over the threshold.
2
"I beg your pardon, sir, if I seem to intrude," said the policeman, beginning to recede. "I came to see Mr. Beamish. I should have made an appointment."
"Hey! Don't go." Said Mr. Waddington.
The policeman paused doubtfully at the door.
"But as Mr. Beamish is not at home...."
"Come right in and have a chat. Sit down and take the weight off your feet. My name is Waddington."