turned into a handshake. "How are you fellows? I got your message,
Garrick, and thought I'd drop around. What's the matter? You all
look as if you'd been drawn through a wringer."

Briefly, to the accompaniment of many expressions of astonishment
from the insurance detective, Garrick related what had happened,
from the raid to the gas-gun.

"Well," gasped McBirney, sniffing the remains of the gas in the
air, "this is some place, isn't it? Neat, cozy, well-located--for
a murder--hello!--that's that ninety horsepower Despard that was
stolen from Murdock the other day, or I'll eat my hat."

He had raised the hood and was straining his eyes to catch a
glimpse of the maker's number on the engine, which had been all
but obliterated by a few judicious blows of a hammer.

Garrick was busy telling McBirney also about the marks of the tire
on the floor, as the detective looked over one car after another,
as if he had unearthed a veritable treasure-trove.

"No, your man could not have been at either of the gambling
joints," agreed McBirney, as Garrick finished, "or he wouldn't
have called up. But he must have known them intimately. Perhaps he
was in the pay of someone there."

McBirney was much interested in what had been discovered, and was
trying to piece it together with what we had known before. "I
wonder whether he's the short fellow who drove the car when it was
seen up there, or the big fellow who was in the car when