the spell of Vance's strange and dynamic importunities.
"Then don't wait.—And, Sergeant! You'd better bring Burke or Snitkin along. They won't be needed here—nobody'll be needed here any more to-day."
Heath looked inquiringly to Markham for counsel; his bewilderment had thrown him into a state of mute indecision. Markham nodded his approval of Vance's suggestions, and, without a word, slipped into his raincoat. A few minutes later the four of us, accompanied by Snitkin, had entered Vance's car and were lurching up-town. Swacker had been sent home; the office had been locked up; and Burke and Emery had departed for the Homicide Bureau to await further instructions.
Skeel lived in 35th Street, near the East River, in a dingy, but once pretentious, house which formerly had been the residence of some old family of the better class. It now had an air of dilapidation and decay; there was rubbish in the areaway; and a large sign announcing rooms for rent was posted in one of the ground-floor windows.
As we drew up before it Heath sprang to the street and looked sharply about him. Presently he espied an unkempt man slouching in the doorway of a grocery-store diagonally opposite, and beckoned to him. The man shambled over furtively.
"It's all right, Guilfoyle," the Sergeant told him. "We're paying the Dude a social visit.—What's the trouble? Why didn't you report?"
Guilfoyle looked surprised.
"I was told to phone in when he left the house, sir. But he ain't left yet. Mallory tailed him home
