Jackson! Brock!"

Every typewriter in the city room stopped clacking and the three
reporters jumped. They crowded together in the doorway as Brennan
snapped his instructions.

"Get the Chief on the 'phone and hold him for me, Jackson. Here, Brock,
sit in at the desk and keep everything down to a couple of sticks. Call
a taxi, Kerr."

He glanced at his watch as he made for the stairs. It was ten minutes to
1 a.m. Up in the composing-room he went over the forms with the foreman,
asking questions, "killing" perfectly good "stories" with rapid decision,
clearing space for the biggest "scoop" which the _Recorder_ had achieved
in many months.

"Chief's not home and they don't know where he is," came Jackson's
anxious voice through the speaking tube.

"Find him! Find him!" cried Brennan impatiently. "Try the National
Club. Use your head, Jackson!"

But when Brennan hurried downstairs a few minutes later McAllister had
not been located yet.

"He went out somewhere with Wade, of the C.L.S., and left no word at the
house as to when he'd be back," explained Jackson.

"Call up Wade, then."

"I did, but he's out too, and nobody seems to know where."

Brennan swore.

"Get me Nat Lawson on the 'phone. Say, Chic, where's Pardeau? What?
Not back from that assignment? Then see if you can find him for me. The
rest of you chop your stuff. Cristy Lawson owns the front page!"

Briefly he answered their eager questions, then turned to listen to
Jackson, talking to the Lawson residence. Apparently Nathaniel Lawson
was not at home either.

Brennan fiddled with the stem of his watch for a moment. He was in a
quandary. He had been taken into McAllister's confidence, of course,
regarding this graft exposure story which had been nursed along so
carefully. The cuts to illustrate it were locked up in McAllister's
desk, he knew. It was unlike the Chief to leave no word of his
whereabouts. That it should happen on this of all nights! No doubt
they'd locate him after a bit; but in the meantime--? It was nearly one
o'clock and Cristy Lawson's wire brooked no delay.

There was only one thing to do--go ahead on his own initiative. Brennan
went into McAllister's private office and closed the door while he talked
to the Chief of Police on the private line. He came out hurriedly,
called Kerr, and went down in the elevator to the waiting taxi. Next to
Pardeau, Kerr was the fastest shorthand man on the staff.

They s