Carroll flushed.  “Yet you’re disappointed in me?”

“A little—­yes,” said Leverage honestly.  “But I’ve been disappointed in you before, David—­and you’ve always made me sorry for it.  I know you won’t throw me down this time.  You’ve never done it yet.”

“You’re safe!” said Carroll grimly.  “No—­” as Leverage started for the door; “Don’t go!  I want to think for a minute—­”

Leverage sank obediently into a chair.  Carroll paced the room slowly.  He was thinking—­struggling to decide upon a plan of action which would delay the arrest of Naomi Lawrence until the ultimate moment.  And finally he flung back his head triumphantly.  Leverage looked up with pleasure at the sound of relief in his friend’s voice—­

“Leverage?”

“Yes?”

“You say this case is mine—­absolutely?  To handle as I see fit?”

“Yes.”

“You agree that we have enough against William Barker to arrest him?”

“Gosh—­I said that the first day we met him.”

“You also agree that he knows whatever connection the Lawrences have with the Warren murder?”

“I do.”

“Then get Barker.  Bring him here!”

Leverage departed with a light step.  There was a smile on his lips.  Here was the style of procedure with which he was familiar and in full sympathy.  Here was action supplanting stagnation—­something definite succeeding the long nerve-wracking period of conjecture which appeared to lead nowhere save into a labyrinth of endless discussion.

He started the machinery of the department to moving.  When he returned to his office an hour later, Carroll was still seated motionlessly before the grate fire—­an extinguished cigar between his teeth—­eyes focused intently on the dancing flames.  Leverage spoke—­

“I’ve got Barker.”

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs.”

“Bring him in.  You stay here when he comes—­send everybody else out.”

Cartwright brought Barker into the room and Leverage dismissed the plainclothesman.  Barker, eyes wide with fear, face pallid—­yet with a certain belligerence in his attitude—­confronted the two detectives.

“I say—­” he started, “what does this mean?”

“It means,” said Carroll coldly, “that you are under arrest for the murder of Roland Warren!”

“That I’m—­” Barker fell back a step.  It was plain that he was surprised.  “You’re arresting me for Warren’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t do it.  I’ll swear I didn’t.”

“Of course you’ll swear it—­” Carroll’s steely voice excited a vast admiration in Leverage’s breast.  Many times before he had seen the transformation in his friend from all too human softness to almost inhuman coldness—­yet he never failed of surprise at the phenomenon.  “But we know you did do it.”

“You don’t know nothin’ of the kind,” Barker’s voice came in a half-snarl.  “I don’t give a damn how smart you fly-cops are—­you can’t prove nothin’ on me.”