We entered the tavern, and were greeted with a general air of rough curiosity, which was quickly dispelled by our spending ten cents, and getting change for a bill.  At least we were good for anything reasonable, and doubts on that score settled by the man behind the bar, he consented to enter into conversation, which ultimately resulted in our hiring a large back room upstairs in the secluded caravansary which supplied “Furnished Rooms for Gentlemen Only.”

Garrick said that we would bring our things later, and we went upstairs.  We were no sooner settled than he was at work.  He had brought a rope ladder, and, after fastening it securely to the window ledge, he let himself down carefully into the narrow court below.

That was the only part of the operation that seemed to be attended with any risk of discovery and it was accomplished safely.  For one thing the dirt on the windows both of the garage and the tavern was so thick that I doubt whether so much caution was really necessary.  Nevertheless, it was a relief when he secured the ends of the wires from the detectaphone and brought them up, pulling in the rope ladder after him.

It was now the work of but a minute to attach one of the wires that led from the watchcase disc back of the pile of tires to the oak box with its two storage batteries.  Garrick held the ear-pieces, one to each ear, then shoved them over his head, in place.

“It works—­it works,” he cried, with as much delight as if he had not been positive all along that it would.

“Here, try it yourself,” he added, taking the headgear off and handing the receivers to me.

I put the black discs at my ears, with the little round holes over the ear openings.  It was marvellous.  I could hear the men washing down one of the cars, the swash of water, and, best of all, the low-toned, gruff gossip.

“Just a couple of the men there, now,” explained Garrick.  “I gather that they are talking about what happened last night.  I heard one of them say that someone they call ‘the Chief’ was there last night and that another man, ‘the Boss,’ gave him orders to tell no one outside about it.  I suppose the Chief is our friend with the stupefying gun.  The Boss must be the fellow who runs the garage.  What are they saying now?  They were grumbling about their work when I handed the thing over to you.”

I listened, fascinated by the marvel of the thing.  I could hear perfectly, although the men must have been in the front of the garage.

“Well, there’s two of them yer won’t haveter wash no more,” one man was saying.  “A feller from the perlice come an’ copped off two—­that sixty tin can and the ninety Despard.”

“Huh—­so the bulls are after him?”

“Yeh.  One was here all night after the fight.”

“Did they follow the Chief?”

“Follow the Chief?  Say, when anyone follows the Chief he’s gotter be better than any bull that ever pounded a beat.”