"YOU can't always tell what a thing is by how it looks," said Bryce.
I nodded. We had been talking over cases we had handled, that morning in our suite of offices on the seventh floor of the Urania Building, indulging in reminiscenceas much as anything.
Jim was my partner in "Glace and Bryce-Private Investigators," and had been an inspector of police before our partnership was formed. He was a big-boned, heavy-set chap with a round head and a stubby brown mustache above the long, black cigar he was smoking. And he was a most dependable man.
He had come into my private room some half-hour before from his own on the other side of our suite, with a morning paper doubled up in his hand.