"He was a notorious old sport about town, Captain."

"Sure--and I thinks, it sorter serves him right. But, that's his
funeral, not mine. Van Cleft, junior, says to me: 'There's the
girl that was with him.'"

"Where was the girl?"

"She was sitting on a stool, near the car, a little blonde chorus
chicken, shaking and twitching, while the chauffeur and the
garage boss held her up. I says, 'What's this?' and Van Cleft
tells me all he knows, which ain't nothing. Them guys in that
garage was wise, for it meant a cold five hundred apiece before I
left to keep their lids closed. Van Cleft begs me to hustle the
old man home, so one of my men takes her down to my office, still
a sniffling, and acting like she had the D.T.'s. The young
fellow shook like a leaf, but we takes him over to Central Park
East, to the family mansion,--carrying him up the steps like he
was drunk. We gets him into his own bed, and keeps the sister
from touching his clammy hands, while she orders the family
doctor. When he gets there on the jump, I gives him the wink and
leads him to one side. 'Doc,' I says, 'you know how to write out
a death certificate, to hush this up from your end. I've done
the rest.'"

Captain Cronin leaned forward, a queer excitement agitating him.

"Do you know what that doctor says to me, Monty?"