“No. Our friend the policeman went by ten minutes ago. Just as well he didn't see you with your friend. They say he's a chum of McGlory's.”
“See what you think of this,” said Bedloe, drawing the bottle from under his coat.
“Hello, you don't mean to say you've got it?”
“Take a good look.”
“Yes, sir. Well, I 'll be——! There's the red seal, and the left foot a little out of drawing, and the right hand turned out instead of in, and—is it?—yes, an imperfection in the capital C. Yes, sir, you've got it! I won't say another word, Bill. You're a wizard. You must have hypnotized her.”
“Well, I got it. No matter how. And I got something else, too. Here, step into the lumber yard before we're seen. Stenzenberger doesn't keep a private watchman, does he?”
“No. He doesn't need it, with his friendly hold on the police.”
A board was loose in the rear fence. Within a very few minutes the two men were stepping cautiously between the piles of lumber, Beveridge peering eagerly into the shadows, his companion watching him and following close behind.
“Wish we'd brought a lantern, Bill.”
“I thought of it. But it would hardly be safe.”