XIII
THE BLOOD OF HIS ANCESTORS
At the Central Station Norvin found a great confusion. City officials and newspaper men were coming and going, telephones were ringing, patrolmen and detectives, summoned from their beds, were reporting and receiving orders; yet all this bustling activity affected him with a kind of angry impatience. It seemed, somehow, perfunctory and inadequate; in the intensity of his feeling he doubted that any one else realized, as he did, the full significance of what had occurred.
As quickly as possible he made his way to O'Neil, the Assistant
Superintendent of Police, who was deep in consultation with Mayor
Wright. For a moment he stood listening to their talk, and then, at the
first pause, interposed without ceremony:
"Tell me—what is being done?"
O'Neil, who had not seemed to note his approach, answered without a hint of surprise at the interruption:
"We are dragging the city."
"Of course. Have you arrested Larubio, the cobbler?"
"No!" Both men turned to Blake now with concentrated attention.
"Then don't lose a moment's time. Arrest all his friends and associates. Look for a man in a rubber coat. I saw him fire. There's a boy, too," he added, after a moment's pause, "about fourteen years old. He was hiding at the corner. I think he must have been their picket; at any rate, he knows something."