"But, Garrick," persisted Dillon, "don't you know that it is a
veritable National City Bank for protection. It isn't one of those
common gambling joints. It's proof against all the old methods.
Axes and sledgehammers would make no impression there. Why, that
place has been proved bomb-proof--bomb-proof, sir. You remember
recently the so-call 'gamblers' war' in which some rivals exploded
a bomb on the steps because the proprietor of this place resented
their intrusion uptown from the lower East Side, with their gunmen
and lobbygows? It did more damage to the house next door than to
the gambling joint."

Dillon paused a moment to enumerate the difficulties. "You can get
past the outside door all right. But inside is the famous ice-box
door. It's no use to try it at all unless you can pass that door
with reasonable quickness. All the evidence you will get will be
of an innocent social club room downstairs. And you can't get on
the other side of that door by strategy, either. It is strategy-
proof. The system of lookouts is perfect. Herman---"

"Can't help it," interrupted Garrick, "we've got to go over
Herman's head this time. I'll guarantee you all the evidence
you'll ever need."

Dillon and Garrick faced each other for a moment.

It was a supreme test of Dillon's sincerity.

Finally he spoke slowly. "All right," he said, as if at last the
die were cast and Garrick had carried his point, "but how are you
going to do it? Won't you need some men with axes and crowbars?"