Guy Garrick HTML version

4.The Liquid Bullet
On our return to the city, I was not surprised after our conversation over in New
Jersey to find that Garrick had decided on visiting police headquarters. It was, of
course, Commissioner Dillon, one of the deputies, whom he wanted to see. I had
met Dillon myself some time before in connection with my study of the finger print
system, and consequently needed no second introduction.
In his office on the second floor, the Commissioner greeted us cordially in his
bluff and honest voice which both of us came to know and like so well later.
Garrick had met him often and the cordiality of their relations was well testified to
by Dillon's greeting.
"I thought you'd be here before long," he beamed on Garrick, as he led us into an
inner sanctum. "Did you read in the papers this morning about that murder of a
girl whose body was found up in New Jersey in the underbrush?"
"Not only that, but I've picked up a few things that your man overlooked,"
confided Garrick.
Dillon looked at him sharply for a moment. "Say," he said frankly, "that's one of
the things I like about you, Garrick. You're on the job. Also, you're on the square.
You don't go gumshoeing it around behind a fellow's back, and talking the same
way. You play fair. Now, look here. Haven't I always played fair with you,
"Yes, Dillon," agreed Garrick, "you have always played fair. But what's the idea?"
"You came up here for information, didn't you?" persisted the commissioner.
Garrick nodded.