mostly on paper."

"Yes; I know."

"But now, since I'm stuck down here for this long convalescence, it's the
best thing I can do; in fact, it's the only thing. I've drifted through
life fooling with real estate and writing now and then a little, a very
little, poor fiction. Neither occupation would support me in Furmville;
and I think I could make good as a sort of consulting detective and
criminologist. There's money in it, isn't there?"

"Yes; good money," Braceway replied without much enthusiasm. "But there
are times when it's heart-breaking work, this thing of running down the
guilty, the scum of the earth, the failures, the rotters, and the rats.
It isn't all a Fourth of July celebration with the bands playing and your
name in the papers."

"Oh, I understand that. Any profession has its drawbacks."

"But you have the analytical mind. And, as I just said, there's money in
it."

The glow had faded from the sky, and, with the darkness, there had come a
noticeable chill in the air. Braceway yawned and stretched his arms. In
addition to his talks with Abrahamson, Roddy, and Withers, he had also
interviewed Perry and Lucy Thomas.

"By George!" he said explosively. "I'm tired. I don't know when I've been
this tired. This has been a real day, something popping every minute
since I got here this morning."

Bristow did not answer that. He was thinking of the impression he had
received from Maria Fulton that she was still in love with Braceway. He
had had that idea quite vividly while talking to her. He wondered now
whether he had better mention it to Braceway. No, he decided; the time
for that would come after the grinding work in Washington. Bristow
himself was far from being a sentimental man. If he had been in
Braceway's place, he would have preferred to hear nothing about the girl
and her emotions until after the completion of the work.

"Are you packed up?" Braceway asked. "Ready to go?"

"Almost."

"Well, suppose we drift on down to the Brevord. No; I forgot. You'd
rather drive down, wouldn't you? Walking would bother that leg. I'll send
the machine up for you."

"Thanks," Bristow accepted appreciatively. "That will be best."

"All right. I'll have it up here in an hour or so. You can pick me up,
and we'll run out to Larrimore."

He went down Manniston Road, his heels striking hard against the
concrete. Under the light at the far corner he flashed into Bristow's
vision, twirling his cane on his thumb;