"I got him right, that's all," says Mike. "And he'd faked up a nice little stall too."
"Anything on him when you rounded him up?" asks Whitey.
Donahue shakes his head disgusted. "Stowed it," says he.
"Some cute, eh?" says Whitey.
"Bah!" says Mike. "Who was it sprung that tale about his being a big English crook? The Yard never heard of him. I doped him out from the first, though. Plain nut! The Chief wouldn't believe it until I showed him."
"Showed him what?" says Whitey, innocent like.
"This," says the sleuth, haulin' out of his pocket a bulgy envelope. "I found that in his room. Take a look," and he lifts the flap at the end.
"What the deuce!" says Whitey.
"Sawdust," says Mike, "just plain, everyday sawdust. I had it analyzed,—no dope, no nothing. Now tell me, would anyone but a nut do a thing like that?"
We both agreed nobody but a nut would; also we remarks in chorus that Mr. Donahue is some classy sleuth, which he don't object to at all. In fact, after I've explained how a relation of Allston's had asked me to look him up he fixes it so I can get a pass into the Tombs. Followin' which I blows Whitey to one of Farroni's seventy-five-cent spaghetti banquets and then goes home to think a few chunks of thought.