“Take a message to Daniels!” snapped the vice-president; and then, dictating:  “’How would it do to let it be known quietly that Gordon’s election means raise in price of water to High Line users?’ Send that, and sign it ‘Committee of Safety.’  Now how about Kittredge?  Did you get him?”

“I did; he’s driving out in his car, and he ought to be here in a few minutes.”

As if to make O’Brien’s word good, the roar of an automobile came from the driveway, dominating for the moment the chattering of the telegraph-instruments, and a little later Kittredge came in, lifting his goggles and wiping the road dust from his closely clipped black beard.

“That car of yours isn’t what it might be, Kittredge,” was the vice-president’s crusty greeting.  “You’d better get a faster one.  Sit down, and let’s have it.  How are things shaping up in the city?”

The big superintendent sat down and found a cigar in an inner pocket of his driving-coat.

“We are holding our own, as far as anybody can see,” he returned.

“That ‘as far as anybody can see’ is just your weakness, Kittredge,” said the chief testily.  “What we want—­what we’ve got to have first, last, and all the time—­is the fact.  Now see if you can answer a few straight questions.  What is the senator doing?”

“His wife has a young girl visiting her, and if the Honorable Dave is doing anything more than to show the two women a good time, I can’t find it out.”

“There you go again!  You say ‘if.’  It’s your business to know.”

Kittredge held his peace.  Being designed by nature for a heavy-weight ring-fighter, there were times when he felt like taking off his coat to the vice-president.

“Well?” prompted McVickar, when Kittredge remained obstinately silent.

“If I knew what sort of a deal you have made with the senator—­”

“That cuts no figure.  But let it go.  What’s young Blount doing?”

“He’s out of it, good and plenty.  He started to go to the Sampson Block fire last night and was knocked down by a hook-and-ladder truck.  It’s a cracked skull, and Doc Dillon says he’s safe to stay in bed for a week or so.”

“H’m,” said the chief reflectively.  “That is almost what you might call opportune, Kittredge.  The young fellow has done his work well, but there was always the danger that he might overdo it.  In fact, there was a time, a week or two ago, when I thought he would have to be called down and given a lesson.  Now then, how about that Gryson business?”

“It was just as you said:  I had to take Tom by the neck and get rid of him.”

“He did his work all right?”

“Yes, and came swaggering around for his pay.  I sized it up one side and down the other.  He had a pretty bad case of swelled head and tried to hold me up for a bonus, hinting around about what he could do if he wanted to throw the gaff into us.  As I say, I sized it up, and took snap judgment on him—­pulled the Montana racket and gave him twenty-four hours’ start of the police.”