eem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know as
I blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pocket
he stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better say
at the start," says he, "that some of our best men have been on this job
for several weeks."

"Nursin' it along, eh?" says I.

That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don't
seem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow between the eyes
and his next remark ain't quite so soothin'.

"No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid fire
mentality a little sooner," says he, "it would have been but a matter of
a few hours."

"There's no telling," says I. "Are you one of the new squad?"

Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with:
"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know."

"Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'd
better back out now, while the backin's good."

"Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrows
sarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we fail
to make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us you
possess."

It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by the
twinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much as
McCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always with
the good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put it
over me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull.

"Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it," says I, "course I got to help
you out. Now what part of Manhattan is it that's got your
super-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?"

He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' a
Broadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of three
policemen and a barber shop," says he. "Here, in the basement of this
hotel on the corner, is the barber shop."

"Yes, I remember," says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on the
side, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?"

"We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that," says
McCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. We
believe that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information.
News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is,
how."

"Had anyone on the inside?" I asks.

"Yes, that b