II
THE FAST WATCH
Police Captain Crowley—red-headed, alert, brave—stamped into the North Side police station an hour later than usual and in a very bad temper. He glared defiantly at the row of patrolmen, reporters, and busybodies, elbowed aside his desk sergeant without a word, and slammed into his private office. The customary pile of morning papers, flaying him in stinging front-page columns, covered his desk. He glanced them over, grunting; then swept them to the floor and let himself drop heavily into his chair.
"He's got to be guilty!" The big fist struck the table top desperately. "It's got to be," the hoarse voice iterated determinedly—"him!" He had checked the last word as the door swung open, only to utter it more forcibly as he recognized the desk sergeant.
"Kanlan, eh, Ed?" the desk sergeant ventured. "You have him at Harrison Street station again the boys tell me."
"Yes, we have him."
"You got nothing out of him yet?"
"No, nothing—yet!"
"But you think it's him?"
"Who said anything about thinking?" Crowley glanced to see that the door was shut. "I said it's
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