“Fine. And you? What luck this afternoon?”
“No luck at all. But that’s what one must expect. You can’t get ’em every day. If you did you’d soon be out of a job. All the crooks would be behind the bars.
“Not that I’d care,” he hastened to add. “There are a lot of occupations more congenial. If I didn’t have a conscience that keeps me hunting men, I’d take up commercial aviation. There’s a job for you! I can fly. Have a hundred and ten hours to my credit, and never a crack-up.”
“Think they’ll ever use airplanes in hunting criminals?” asked Johnny, sitting up.
“Might. Couldn’t do much right in the city. But if a gang was supposed to be leaving town; if the car they used was well marked, you could do a lot with a plane; soar about, watching a hundred roads at once.”
“Had anything to eat?” Drew asked, as Johnny rose and busied himself with his toilet.
“Not since noon.”
“My treat to-night. And you’ll like it. Mrs. Ramacciotti has some ravioli a la Tuscany on the stove.”
“What’s all that?”
“You’ll see. Just get on your collar and tie. We’ll want plenty of time for a feast before you go back there to get beaten up again. Or are you going?”