Annoyance and surprise were in his
voice when he spoke.
"But look here, Anderson," he burst out finally. "Anything else
and I'll--but what's the use? I said a minute ago, you had brains
--but now, by Judas, I doubt it! If anyone else wanted a chance
at the Bat, I'd give it to them and gladly--I'm hard-boiled. But
you're too valuable a man to be thrown away!"
"I'm no more valuable than Wentworth would have been."
"Maybe not--and look what happened to him! A bullet hole in his
heart--and thirty years of work that he might have done thrown
away! No, Anderson, I've found two first-class men since I've been
at this desk--Wentworth and you. He asked for his chance; I gave
it to him--turned him over to the Government--and lost him. Good
detectives aren't so plentiful that I can afford to lose you both."
"Wentworth was a friend of mine," said Anderson softly. His knuckles
were white dints in the hand that gripped the chair. "Ever since
the Bat got him I've wanted my chance. Now my other work's cleaned
up--and I still want it."
"But I tell you--" began the chief in tones of high exasperation.
Then he stopped and looked at his protege. There was a silence for
a time.
"Oh, well--" said the chief finally in a hopeless voice. "Go ahead
--commit suicide--I'll send you a 'Gates Ajar' and a card, 'Here
lies a damn fool who would have been a great detective if he hadn't
been so pig-headed.' Go ahead!"
Anderson rose. "Thank you, sir," he said in a deep voice.
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