"Sure, I know him. He's all right, Jerrold is, although everybody looks on him as a harmless sort of crank."
"He don'd lif in dot blace vere der chimney fires iss?"
"No; he hangs out in a different part of town."
"Den, you see, it vas a put-oop chob all aroundt. It vas Prady, I bed you, vat sendt dot delegram, got Matt in a drap, und den flew off mit him in der Hawk. Meppy ve make a call on Jerrold?"
"I'll call up the department and report," said Harris, "so they can send another man on my beat while I'm fooling around on this case."
They hurried back into town and the officer unlocked one of the lamp-post boxes and reported to headquarters.
"All right," said he as he rejoined Carl. "Now we'll put in the rest of the night, if we have to. If Brady has had a hand in the robberies that have been going on here, this is liable to be good and profitable work for me."
Jerrold lived almost a mile from the place where Harris had done his telephoning. He had a large, rambling old house set far back in a dense mass of trees and shrubbery.
"He's a good deal of a hermit," explained Harris, as he and Carl proceeded along the walk to the front door. "A harmless old skate, but he's pretty broad between the eyes, at that."
It was after midnight, and, as might be supposed, the house was dark. A knock on the door brought a night-capped head from an upper window.