“Yes,” said Larry.

Barney, and Old Jimmie as well, had perked up at the appearance of Barlow, as though at aid which had come just in time.  But Barlow turned upon Barney a cold police eye.

“I heard you brag that you were my stool.  That’s a lie.”

“Why—­why—­Chief—­” Barney stammered.  He had counted upon help here, where there had existed mutually advantageous relations for so long.

“I heard you say you had my protection.  That’s another lie.  You’ve squealed on a few people, but I’ve never given you a thing.”

Barney gasped at this.  He knew, as every one in the room also knew, that Barlow was lying.  But Barlow held all the cards.  Rough and ruthless police politician that he was, he made it his business always to hold the highest cards.  As sick of soul as a man can be, Barney realized that Barlow was doing exactly what Barlow always did—­was swinging to the side that had the most evidence and that would prove most advantageous to him.  And Barney realized that he was suffering the appointed fate of all stool-pigeons who are found out by their fellow criminals to be stool-pigeons.  Such informers are of no further use, and according to the police code they must be given punishment so severe as to dissipate any unhealthy belief on the public’s part that there could ever have been any alliance between the two.

“I’ve used this young lady who seems to have been Jimmie Carlisle’s daughter and now seems to be the daughter of this old-timer Joe Ellison, for a little private sleuthing on my own hook,” Barlow went on—­for it was the instinct of the man to claim the conception and leadership of any idea in whose development he had a part.  He spoke in a brusque tone—­as why should he not, since he was addressing an audience he lumped together as just so many crooks?  “Through this little stunt I pulled to-night, I’ve got on to your curves, Barney Palmer.  And yours, too, Jimmie Carlisle.  And I’m going to run the pair of you in.”

This was too much for Barney Palmer.  Even though he knew that his position as a stool, who was known to be a stool, was without hope whatever, he went utterly to pieces.

“For God’s sake, Chief,” he burst out frantically, “you’re not going to treat me like that!  You could get me out of this easy!  Think of all I’ve done for you!  For God’s sake, Chief—­for God’s sake—­”

“Shut up!” ordered Barlow, doubling a big fist.

Chokingly Barney obeyed.  Old Jimmie, coward though he was, and lacking entirely Barney’s quality of a bravo, had accepted the situation with the twitching calm of one to whom the worst has often happened.  “Shut up,” repeated Barlow, “and get it fixed in your beans that I’m going to run you two in.”

“Run them in because of this Sherwood affair?” asked Larry.

“Surest thing you know.  I’ve got all the evidence I seed.”

“But—­” Larry was beginning protestingly, when the doorbell rang again.  Maggie opened the door, and there entered Miss Sherwood, with Hunt just behind her, and Dick just behind him, and Casey and Gavegan following these three.  All in the room were surprised at this invasion with the sole exception of Joe Ellison.