"Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I—I just know, that's all. I've seen his writin', plenty times."
"Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?"
"Night court," says the sergeant.
"Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by the time your case is called."
"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful.
Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn't see it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, I jumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed I meant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' a confab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see me so quick.
"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?"
"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop."
McCrea gives a gasp. "You—you have?" says he.
"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge or anything on the judge at the night court?"