Carton looked about in silent admiration.  As for myself, although one might have thought it was an old story with me, I had found that no sooner had I become familiar with one piece of apparatus to perform one duty, than another situation, entirely different and unprecedented in our cases arose which called for another, entirely new.  I had learned to have implicit confidence in Kennedy’s ability to meet each new emergency with something fully capable of solving the problem.

From a cabinet, Kennedy took out what looked like the little black leather box of a camera, with, however, a most peculiar looking lens.

IX

THE JURY FIXER

“Let’s visit Farrell’s,” remarked Craig, after looking over the apparatus and slinging it over his shoulder.

It was early yet, and the theatres were not out, so that there were comparatively few people in the famous all-night cafe.  We entered the bar cautiously and looked about.  Kahn at least was not there.

In the back of this part of the cafe were several booths, open to conform to the law, yet sufficiently screened so that there was at least a little privacy.

Above the booths was a line of transoms.

“What’s back there?” asked Kennedy, under his breath.

“A back room,” returned Carton.

“Perhaps Kahn is there,” Craig suggested.  “Walter, you’re the one whom he would least likely recognize.  Suppose you just stick your head in the door and look about as quietly as you can.”

I lounged back, glanced at the records of sporting events posted on the wall at the end of the bar, then, casually, as if looking for someone, swung the double-hinged door that led from the bar into the back room.

The room was empty except for one man, turned sidewise to the door, reading a paper, but in a position so that he could see anyone who entered.  I had not opened the door widely enough to be noticed, but I now let it swing back hastily.  It was Kahn, pompously sipping something he had ordered.

“He’s back there,” I whispered to Kennedy, as I returned, excitedly motioning toward one of the transoms over the booths back of which Kahn was seated.

“Right there?” he queried.

“Just about,” I answered.

A moment later Kennedy led the way over to the booth under the transom and we sat down.  A waiter hovered near us.  Craig silenced him quickly with a substantial order and a good-sized tip.

From our position, if we sat well within the booth, we were effectually hidden unless someone purposely came down and looked in on us.  We watched Kennedy curiously.  He had unslung the little black camera-like box and to it attached a pair of fine wires and a small pocket storage battery which he carried.

Then he looked up at the transom.  It was far too high for us to hear through, even if those in the back room talked fairly loud.  Standing on the leather wall seats of the booth to listen or even to look over was out of the question, for it would be sure to excite suspicion among the waiters, or the customers who were continually passing in and out of the place.