It
was an ancient brownstone and Magnessen's name was on a second-floor
door. They knocked.
The door opened and a stocky, crop-headed, shirt-sleeved man in his
thirties stood before them. He turned slightly pale at the sight of so
many uniforms, but held his ground.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"You Magnessen?" Lieutenant Smith barked.
"Yeah. What's the beef? If it's about my hi-fi playing too loud, I can
tell you that old hag downstairs--"
"May we come in?" Rath asked. "It's important."
Magnessen seemed about to refuse, so Rath pushed past him, followed by
Smith, Follansby, Haskins, and a small army of policemen. Magnessen
turned to face them, bewildered, defiant and more than a little awed.
"Mr. Magnessen," Rath said, in the pleasantest voice he could muster,
"I hope you'll forgive the intrusion. Let me assure you, it is in the
Public Interest, as well as your own. Do you know a short,
angry-looking, red-haired, red-eyed man?"
"Yes," Magnessen said slowly and warily.
Haskins let out a sigh of relief.
"Would you tell us his name and address?" asked Rath.
"I suppose you mean--hold it! What's he done?"
"Nothing."
"Then what you want him for?"
"There's no time for explanations," Rath said.
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