the sergeant, disgusted.

"Sorry, officer," says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a five
casual.

"Enjoy yourselves, boys," says he. "But pick out another beat."

Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walks
east. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyed
copper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too.

"Drop that, now!" says he.

"Certainly not," says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole."

"Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? And
maybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now."

You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when we
shows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sports
think you're doin', anyway?" he demands.

"I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct," says the
cop, layin' the evidence on the desk.

"Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if he
had a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant."

I grins and hands over the paper.

"Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name like
that. Never."

"How do you know?" says I.

"Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I--I just know, that's
all. I've seen his writin', plenty times."

"Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?"

"Night court," says the sergeant.

"Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by the
time your case is called."

"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful.

Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn't
see it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, I
jumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed I
meant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' a
confab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see me
so quick.

"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?"

"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop."

McCrea gives a gasp. "You--you have?" says he.

"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge or
anything on the judge at the night court?"

Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for after
whisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry gets
the nod that he's free to go.

"May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry.

"No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge."

"Silence!" roars the Justice.