We went out gladly, though I did hesitate long enough to pocket an unbroken bottle labeled “Dewar.”

A khaki-dressed copper was tumbling off a motorcycle at the gate. He yelled at us:

“The First National’s been stuck up.”

Noonan cursed savagely, bawled:

“He’s foxed us, damn him! Back to town, everybody.”

Everybody except us who had ridden with the chief beat it for the machines. Two of them took the dead detective with them.

Noonan looked at me out of his eye-corners and said:

“This is a tough one, no fooling.”