That Bayonne plant wa'n't much to look at, just a few sheds and a spur
track. I hadn't been to the Yonkers foundry, but I had an idea it wa'n't
much more impressive. Course, there was the joint on East 153d Street.
I knew that well enough, for I'd helped negotiate the lease.

It had been run by a firm that was buildin' some new kind of marine
motors, but had gone broke. Used to be a stove works, I believe.

Anyway, it's only a two-story cement-block affair, jammed in between some
car-barns on one side and a brewery on the other. Hot proposition to
trot out as the big end of a six-million-dollar contract! But it was the
best I had to offer, and after the Lieutenant had finished his Oolong and
lighted a cigarette I loads him into the limousine again and we shoots
uptown.

"Here we are," says I, as we turns into a cross street just before it
ends in the East River. "The main works," and I waves my band around
casual.

"Ah, yes," says he, gettin' his eye on the tall brick stack of the
brewery and then lettin' his gaze roam across to the car-barns.

"Temporary quarters," says I. "Kind of miscellaneous, ain't they?
Here's the main entrance. Let's go in here first." And I steers him
through the office door of the middle buildin'. Then I hunts up the
superintendent.

"Just takin' a ramble through the works," says I. "Don't bother. We'll
find our way."