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Page 25
"Well, listen here. Till th' owner comes back, keep your eyes peeled
on this place. An' any one y' see prowling around, nab him an' send
for me. On your way!"
Haggerty departed in a hurry. He had already made up his mind as to
what he was going to do. He hunted up a taxicab and told the chauffeur
where to go, advising him to "hit it up." His destination was the
studio-apartment of J. Mortimer Forbes, the artist. It was late, but
this fact did not trouble Haggerty. Forbes never went to bed until
there was positively nothing else to do.
The elevator-boy informed Haggerty that Mr. Forbes had just returned
from the theater. Alone? Yes. Haggerty pushed the bell-button. A
dog bayed.
"Why, Haggerty, what's up? Come on in. Be still, Fritz!"
The dachel's growl ended in a friendly snuffle, and he began to dance
upon Haggerty's broad-toed shoes.
"Bottle of beer? Cigar? Take that easy chair. What's on your mind
tonight?" Forbes rattled away. "Why, man, there's a cut on the side
of your head!"
"Uhuh. Got any witch-hazel?" The detective sat down, stretched out
his legs, and pulled the dachel's ears.
Forbes ran into the bathroom to fetch the witch-hazel. Haggerty poured
a little into his palm and dabbled the wound with it.
"Now, spin it out; tell me what's happened," said Forbes, filling his
calabash and pushing the cigars across the table.
For a year and a half these two men, the antitheses of each other, had
been intimate friends. This liking was genuine, based on secret
admiration, as yet to be confessed openly. Forbes had always been
drawn toward this man-hunting business; he yearned to rescue the
innocent and punish the guilty. Whenever a great crime was committed
he instantly overflowed with theories as to what the criminal was
likely to do afterward. Haggerty enjoyed listening to his patter; and
often there were illuminating flashes which obtained results for the
detective, who never applied his energies in the direction of logical
deduction. Besides, the chairs in the studio were comfortable, the
imported beer not too cold, and the cigars beyond criticism.
Haggerty accepted a cigar, lighted it, and amusedly watched the eager
handsome face of the artist.
"Any poker lately?"
"No; cut it out for six months. Come on, now; don't keep me waiting
any longer."
"Mum's th' word?"--tantalizingly.
"You ought to know that by this time"--aggrieved.
Haggerty tossed the bunch of keys on the table.
"Ha! Good specimens, these," Forbes declared, handling them. "Here's
a window-opener."
"Good boy!" said Haggerty, as a teacher would have commended a bright
pupil.
"And a door-chain lifter. Nothing lacking. Did he hit you with these?"
"Ye-up."
"What are these regular keys for?"
"One o' them unlocks a door." Haggerty smoked luxuriously.
Forbes eyed the ordinary keys with more interest than the burglarious
ones. Haggerty was presently astonished to see the artist produce his
own key-ring.
"What now?"
"When Crawford went abroad he left a key with me. I am making some
drawings for an Egyptian romance and wanted to get some atmosphere."
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