"So you've got Trotter there! What else have you got?"
"Will you hold things up till I run down and talk it over? Will you promise me that much?"
Pyott laughed. "Then young Trotter got his story, after all?"
"Got his story? Of course he got it. And in another four hours that safe-cracker would have drilled right into our vitals. I tell you we can't imperil our institution this way. We can't let that stuff get out. We can't do it!"
"Nobody's going to break your nice new bank, Obed! You run down here in a taxi and we'll try to straighten things out."
"But what'll I do with Trotter? How're we ever going to hold him in?"
"Where's your safe-cracker man?"
"We've got him right here! Burns is sending over an A. B. P. A. man to take care of him."
"D'you mean he's hurt?"
"No, no! We've identified him as Missouri Horton of the Scott
Gang—he got a Sing Sing life sentence for yegg work in Yonkers.
But Burns tells me he had enough money buried away to buy Tammany
influence and get paroled. Can't you see what that means?"