The attendant motioned to Jim, and they went silently into an
office where another man, also in while, sat at a desk, and took
down in a big book the circumstances of the Weasel's arrival. He
finished, then Jim saw him reach under the desk and press a
button. Immediately the door opened, and a couple of heavily
built men in plain blue uniforms entered. They read the entry in
the big book, then looked searchingly at Jim.

"You are detained, Morris," said the taller of the two, "pending
an examination into this affair." He took up the house telephone.
Presently he turned. "The man is very badly hurt; perhaps dying.
He is unconscious."

He nodded to Jim. "Come along," he said. "I'll have to keep you
here awhile."

"That's all right," Jim said airily. "I wish I could send a
telephone message. Don't see what harm there is in that."

"No, there's no harm in that," said the detective, "providing the
person you wish to talk to is a decent sort."

"It's Leffingwell--Leffingwell who is Chairman of all the city
committees," said Jim proudly. "Look up his number yourself."

The detective did so. Jim called and began speaking.

"Say, is this Mr. Leffingwell?" he asked. "No, I don't want no
Timmons. I want Mr. Leffingwell."