the building, as he had entered.

In ten minutes he was changing his garments in Mike's plumbing shop,
with a fabulous story of the excruciating joke he had played upon a sick
friend. Then he walked rapidly to the doorway at 192 West Forty-first
Street.

Back against the wall of this empty store entry, lounged a
pleasant-looking young man who puffed at a perfecto. Shirley stepped
in, and in a low tone, said: "Telephone." The other started visibly, and
scrutinized the well-groomed club man from head to foot.

"Well, Chief, you're a surprise. I never thought you looked like that.
Where will we go?"

"Over to the gambling house a friend of mine runs, just around the
corner. There we can talk in quiet."

Shirley led the way, restraining the smile which itched to betray his
enjoyment of the situation. The other studied him with sidelong glances
of unabated astonishment. They were soon going up the steps of the
Holland Agency, which looked for all the world, with its closed
shutters, and quiet front, like a retreat for the worshipers of Dame
Fortune. Cronin fortunately did not believe in signs. So the young man
was not suspicious, even when Shirley gave three knocks upon the door,
to be admitted by the sharp-nosed guardian of the portal.

"Tell Cleary to come downstairs, Nick," said the criminologist. "I want
him to meet a friend of mine."

The superintendent was soon speeding two steps at a time.

"The Captain is back, Mr. Shirley," he exclaimed. "He's in the private
office on a couch."

"Good, then we'll take my friend right to him."

The stranger was beginning to evidence uneasiness, and he turned
questioningly to his conductor, with a growing frown.

"Say, what are you leading me into, Chief?"

Shirley said nothing but strode to the rear of the floor, through the
door of Captain Cronin's sanctum. The old detective was covered with
a steamer shawl, as he stretched out on a davenport. The young man
observed the photographs around the room,--an enormous collection of
double-portraits of profile and front face views--the advertized crooks
for whom Cronin had his nets spread in a dozen cases. The handcuffs on
the desk, the measuring stand, the Bertillon instruments on the table,
all these aroused his suspicions instantly.

He whirled about, angrily.

Shirley smiled in his face. Then he addressed the surprised Captain
Cronin.

"Here is our little telephone expert who arranged the wires for Warren
and his ga