Larry whirled about.  For the moment he felt all the life go out of him.  Beside him stood Detective Casey, whom he had last seen on the night of his wild flight when Casey had feigned a knockout in order to aid Larry’s escape from Gavegan.  Any other man affiliated with his enemies Larry would have struck down and tried to break away from.  But not Casey.

“Hello, Casey.  Well, I suppose you’re going to invite me to go along with you?”

“Where were you going?”

“Into this house.”

“Then I’ll invite myself to go along with you.”

He quickly pushed Larry before him into the hallway, which was empty since all the tenants were at their dinner.  Larry remembered the scene down in Deputy Police Commissioner Barlow’s office, when the Chief of Detectives had demanded that he become a stool-pigeon working under Gavegan and Casey, and the grilling and the threats, more than fulfilled, which had followed.

“Going to give me a little private quiz first, Casey,” he asked, “and then call in Gavegan and lead me down to Barlow?”

“Not unless Gavegan or some one else saw and recognized you, which I know they didn’t since I was watching for that very thing.  And not unless you yourself feel hungry for a visit to Headquarters.”

“If I feel hungry, it’s an appetite I’m willing to make wait.”

“You know I don’t want to pinch you.  My part in this has been a dirty job that was just pushed my way.  You know that I know you’ve been framed and double-crossed, and that I won’t run you in unless I can’t get out of it.”

“Thanks, Casey.  You’re too white to have to run with people like Barlow and Gavegan.  But if it wasn’t to pinch me, why did you stop me out there in the street?”

“Been hoping I might some day run into you on the quiet.  There are some things I’ve learned—­never mind how—­that I wanted to slip you for your own good.”

“Go to it, Casey.”

“First, I’ve got a hunch that it was Barney Palmer who tipped off the police about Red Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt, and then spread it among all the crooks that you were the stool and squealer.”

“Yes, I’d guessed that much.”

“Second, I’ve got a hunch that it really was from Barney Palmer that Barlow got his idea of making you become a stool-pigeon.  Barney is a smooth one all right, and he figured what would happen.  He knew you would refuse, and he knew Barlow would uncork hell beneath you.  Barney certainly called every turn.”

“What—­what—­” stammered Larry.  “Why, then Barney must be—­” He paused, utterly astounded by the newness of the possibility that had just risen in his mind.

“You’ve got it, Larry,” Casey went on.  “Barney is a police stool.  Has been one for years.  Works directly for Barlow.  We’re not supposed to know anything about it.  He’s turned up a lot of big ones.  That’s why it’s safe for Barney to pull off anything he likes.”