Most of the confession was completed by the time we arrived, but as it had all been carefully taken down we knew we had missed nothing.

“You see, Mr. Carton,” Rubano was saying as we three entered and he turned from the assistant who was quizzing him, “it’s like this.  I can’t tell you all about the System.  No one can.  You understand that.  All any of us know is the men next to us—­above and below.  We may have opinions, hear gossip, but that’s no good as evidence.”

“I understand,” reassured Carton.  “I don’t expect that.  You must tell me the gossip and rumours, but all I am bartering a pardon for is what you really know, and you’ve got to make good, or the deal is off, see?”

He said it in a tone that Dopey Jack could understand and the gangster protested.  “Well, Mr. Carton, haven’t I made good?”

“You have so far,” grudgingly admitted Carton who was greedy for everything down to the uttermost scrap that might lead to other things.  “Now, who was the man above you, to whom you reported?”

“Mr. Murtha, of course,” replied Jack, surprised that anyone should ask so simple a question.

“That’s all right,” explained Carton.  “I knew it, but I wanted you on record as saying it.  And above Murtha?”

“Why, you know it is Dorgan,” replied Dopey, “only, as I say, I can’t prove that for you any better than you can.”

“He has already told about his associates and those he had working under him,” explained Carton, turning to us.  “Now Langhorne—­what do you know about him?”

“Know about Langhorne—­the fellow that was—­that I robbed?” repeated Jack.

“You robbed?” cut in Kennedy.  “So you knew about thermit, then?”

Dopey smiled with a sort of pride in his work, much as if he had received a splendid recommendation.

“Yes,” he replied.  “I knew about it—­got it from a peterman who has studied safes and all that sort of thing.  I heard he had some secret, so one night I takes him up to Farrell’s and gets him stewed and he tells me.  Then when I wants to use it, bingo! there I am with the goods.”

“And the girl—­Betty Blackwell—­what did she have to do with it?” pursued Craig.  “Did you get into the office, learn Langhorne’s habits, and so on, from her?”

Dopey Jack looked at us in disgust.  “Say,” he replied, “if I wanted a skirt to help me in such a job, believe me I know plenty that could put it all over that girl.  Naw, I did it all myself.  I picked the lock, burnt the safe with that powder the guy give me, and took out something in soft leather, a lot of typewriting.”

We were all on our feet in unrestrained excitement.  It was the Black Book at last!

“Yes,” prompted Carton, “and what then—­what did you do with it?”

“Gave it to Mr. Murtha, of course,” came back the matter-of-fact answer of the young tough.

“What did he do with it?” demanded Carton.