1

"say, listen!" said sigsbee h. waddington.

"proceed," said hamilton beamish.

"say, listen!"

"i am all attention."

"say, listen!" said mr. waddington.

hamilton beamish glanced at his watch impatiently. even at its normal level of imbecility, the conversation of sigsbee h. waddington was apt to jar upon his critical mind, and now, it seemed to him, the other was plumbing depths which even he had never reached before.

"i can give you seven minutes," he said. "at the end of that period of time i must leave you. i am speaking at a luncheon of the young women writers of america. you came here, i gather, to make a communication to me. make it."

"say, listen!" said sigsbee h.

hamilton beamish compressed his lips sternly. he had heard parrots with a more intelligent flow of conversation. he was conscious of a strange desire to beat this man over the head with a piece of lead-piping.

"say, listen!" said sigsbee h. "i've gone and got myself into the devil of a jam."

"a position of embarrassment?"

"you said it!"

"state nature of same," said hamilton beamish, looking at his watch again.

mr. waddington glanced quickly and nervously over his shoulder.

"it's like this. you heard molly say yesterday she was going to sell those pearls."

"i did."

"well, say, listen!" said mr. waddington, lowering his voice and looking apprehensively about him once more, "they aren't pearls!"

"what are they, then?"

"fakes!"

hamilton beamish winced.

"you mean imitation stones?"

"that's just what i do mean. what am i going to do about it?"

"perfectly simple. bring an action against the jeweller who sold them to you as genuine."

"but they were genuine then. you don't seem to get the position."

"i do not."

sigsbee h. waddington moistened his lips.

"have you ever heard of the finer and better motion picture company of hollywood, cal.?"

"kindly keep to the point. my time is limited."

"this is the point. some time ago a guy who said he was a friend of mine tipped me off that this company was a wow."

"a what?"

"a winner. he said it was going to be big and advised me to come in on the ground floor. the chance of a lifetime, he said it was."

"well?"

"well, i hadn't any money,—not a cent. still, i didn't want to miss a good thing like that, so i sat down and thought. i thought and thought and thought. and then suddenly something seemed to say to me 'why not?' that pearl necklace, i mean. there it was, you get me, just sitting and doing nothing and i only needed the money for a few weeks till this company started to clean up and ... well, to cut a long story short, i sneaked the necklace away, had the fake stones put in, sold the others, bought the stock, and there i was, so i thought, all hotsy-totsy."

"all—what?"

"hotsy-totsy. it seemed to me that i was absolutely hotsy-totsy."

"and what has caused you to revise this opinion?"

"why, i met a man the other day who said these shares weren't worth a bean. i've got 'em here. take a look at them."

hamilton beamish scrutinised the documents with distaste.

"the man was right," he said. "when you first mentioned the name of the company, it seemed familiar. i now recall why. mrs. henrietta byng masterson, the president of the great neck social and literary society, was speaking to me of it last night. she also had bought shares and mentioned the fact with regret. i should say at a venture that these of yours are worth possibly ten dollars."

"i gave fifty thousand for them."

"then your books will show a loss of forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety. i am sorry."

"but what am i to do?"

"write it off to experience."

"but hell's bells! don't you understand? what's going to happen when molly tries to sell that necklace and it comes out that it's a fake?"

hamilton beamish shook his head. with most of the ordinary problems of life he was prepared to cope, but this, he frankly admitted, was beyond him.

"my wife'll murder me."

"i'm sorry."

"i came here, thinking that you would be able to suggest something."

"short of stealing the necklace and dropping it in the hudson river, i fear i can think of no solution."

"you used to be a brainy sort of gink," said mr. waddington reproachfully.

"no human brain could devise a way out of this impasse. you can but wait events and trust to time the great healer eventually to mend matters."

"that's a lot of help."

hamilton beamish shrugged his shoulders. sigsbee h. waddington regarded the stock-certificates malevolently.

"if the stuff's no good," he said, "what do they want to put all those dollar-signs on the back for? misleading people! and look at that seal. and all those signatures."

"i am sorry," said hamilton beamish. he moved to the window and leaned out, sniffing the summer air. "what a glorious day."

"no it isn't," said mr. waddington.

"have you ever by any chance met madame eulalie, mrs. waddington's palmist?" asked hamilton beamish dreamily.

"darn all palmists!" said sigsbee h. waddington. "what am i going to do about this stock?"

"i have already told you that there is nothing that you can do, short of stealing the necklace."

"there must be something. what would you do if you were me?"

"run away to europe."

"but i can't run away to europe. i haven't any money."

"then shoot yourself ... stand in front of a train ... anything, anything," said hamilton beamish impatiently. "and now i must really go. good-bye."

"good-bye. thanks for being such a help."

"not at all," said hamilton beamish. "don't mention it. i am always delighted to be of any assistance, always."

he gave a last soulful glance at the photograph on the mantelpiece and left the room. mr. waddington could hear him singing an old french love-song as he waited for the elevator, and the sound seemed to set the seal upon his gloom and despair.

"you big stiff!" said mr. waddington morosely.

he flung himself into a chair and gave himself up to melancholy meditation. for a while, all he could think of was how much he disliked hamilton beamish. there was a man who went about the place pretending to be clever, and yet the moment you came to him with a childishly simple problem which he ought to have been able to solve in half a dozen different ways in five minutes, he could do nothing but say he was sorry and advise a fellow to stand in front of trains and shoot himself. what on earth was the use of trying to be optimistic about a world which contained people like hamilton beamish?

and that idiotic suggestion of his about stealing the necklace! how could he possibly...?

sigsbee h. waddington sat up in his chair. there was a gleam in his eyes. he snorted. was it such an idiotic suggestion, after all?

he gazed into the future. at the moment the necklace was in safe custody at the bank, but, if molly was going to marry this young pinch, it would presumably be taken from there and placed on exhibition among the other wedding-presents. so that ere long there would undeniably be a time—say, the best part of a day—when a resolute man with a nimble set of fingers might....

mr. waddington sank back in his chair again. the light died out of his eyes. philosophers tell us that no man really knows himself: but sigsbee h. waddington knew himself well enough to be aware that he fell short by several miles of the nerve necessary for such an action. stealing necklaces is no job for an amateur. you cannot suddenly take to it in middle life without any previous preparation. every successful stealer of necklaces has to undergo a rigorous and intensive training from early boyhood, starting with milk-cans and bags at railway-stations and working his way up. what was needed for this very delicate operation was a seasoned professional.

and there, felt sigsbee h. waddington bitterly, you had in a nutshell the thing that made life so difficult to live—the tragic problem of how to put your hand on the right specialist at the exact moment when you required him. all these reference-books like the classified telephone directory omitted the vital trades,—the trades whose members were of assistance in the real crisis of life. they told you where to find a glass beveller, as if anyone knew what to do with a glass beveller when they had got him. they gave you the address of yeast producers and designers of quilts: but what was the good of a producer of yeast when you wanted some one who would produce a jemmy and break into a house or a designer of quilts when what you required was a man who could design a satisfactory scheme for stealing an imitation-pearl necklace?

mr. waddington groaned in sheer bitterness of spirit. the irony of things afflicted him sorely. every day the papers talked about the crime wave: every day a thousand happy crooks were making off in automobiles with a thousand bundles of swag: and yet here he was, in urgent need of one of these crooks, and he didn't know where to look for him.

a deprecating tap sounded on the door.

"come in!" shouted mr. waddington irritably.

he looked up and perceived about seventy-five inches of bony policeman shambling over the threshold.

2

"i beg your pardon, sir, if i seem to intrude," said the policeman, beginning to recede. "i came to see mr. beamish. i should have made an appointment."

"hey! don't go." said mr. waddington.

the policeman paused doubtfully at the door.

"but as mr. beamish is not at home...."

"come right in and have a chat. sit down and take the weight off your feet. my name is waddington."

"mine is garroway," replied the officer, bowing courteously.

"pleased to meet you."

"happy to meet you, sir."

"have a good cigar."

"i should enjoy it above all things."

"i wonder where mr. beamish keeps them," said sigsbee h., rising and routing about the room. "ah, here we are. match?"

"i have a match, thank you."

"capital!"

sigsbee h. waddington resumed his seat and regarded the other affectionately. an instant before, he had been bemoaning the fact that he did not know where to lay his hands on a crook, and here, sent from heaven, was a man who was probably a walking directory of malefactors.

"i like policemen," said mr. waddington affably.

"that is very gratifying, sir."

"always have. shows how honest i am, ha ha! if i were a crook, i suppose i'd be scared stiff, sitting here talking to you." mr. waddington drew bluffly at his cigar. "i guess you come across a lot of criminals, eh?"

"it is the great drawback to the policeman's life," assented officer garroway, sighing. "one meets them on all sides. only last night, when i was searching for a vital adjective, i was called upon to arrest an uncouth person who had been drinking home-brewed hootch. he soaked me on the jaw, and inspiration left me."

"wouldn't that give you a soft-pine finish!" said mr. waddington sympathetically. "but what i was referring to was real crooks. fellows who get into houses and steal pearl necklaces. ever met any of them?"

"i meet a great number. in pursuance of his duty, a policeman is forced against his will to mix with all sorts of questionable people. it may be that my profession biases me, but i have a hearty dislike for thieves."

"still, if there were no thieves, there would be no policemen."

"very true, sir."

"supply and demand."

"precisely."

mr. waddington blew a cloud of smoke.

"i'm kind of interested in crooks," he said. "i'd like to meet a few."

"i assure you that you would not find the experience enjoyable," said officer garroway, shaking his head. "they are unpleasant, illiterate men with little or no desire to develop their souls. i make an exception, i should mention, however, in the case of mr. mullett, who seemed a nice sort of fellow. i wish i could have seen more of him."

"mullett? who's he?"

"he is an ex-convict, sir, who works for mr. finch in the apartment upstairs."

"you don't say! an ex-convict and works for mr. finch? what was his line?"

"inside burglary jobs, sir. i understand, however, that he has reformed and is now a respectable member of society."

"still, he was a burglar once?"

"yes, sir."

"well, well!"

there was a silence. officer garroway, who was trying to find a good synonym for one of the adjectives in the poem on which he was occupied, stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. mr. waddington chewed his cigar intensely.

"say, listen!" said mr. waddington.

"sir?" said the policeman, coming out of his reverie with a start.

"suppose," said mr. waddington, "suppose, just for the sake of argument, that a wicked person wanted a crook to do a horrible, nefarious job for him, would he have to pay him?"

"undoubtedly, sir. these men are very mercenary."

"pay him much?"

"i imagine a few hundred dollars. it would depend on the magnitude of the crime contemplated, no doubt."

"a few hundred dollars!"

"two, perhaps, or three."

silence fell once more. officer garroway resumed his inspection of the ceiling. what he wanted was something signifying the aspect of the streets of new york, and he had used "sordid" in line two. "scabrous!" that was the word. he was rolling it over his tongue when he became aware that his companion was addressing him.

"i beg your pardon, sir?"

mr. waddington's eyes were glittering in a peculiar way. he leaned forward and tapped officer garroway on the knee.

"say, listen! i like your face, larrabee."

"my name is garroway."

"never mind about your name. it's your face i like. say, listen, do you want to make a pile of money?"

"yes, sir."

"well, i don't mind telling you that i've taken a fancy to you, and i'm going to do something for you that i wouldn't do for many people. have you ever heard of the finer and better motion picture company of hollywood, cal.?"

"no, sir."

"that's the wonderful thing," said mr. waddington in a sort of ecstasy. "nobody's ever heard of it. it isn't one of those worn-out propositions like the famous players that everybody's sick and tired of. it's new. and do you know what i'm going to do? i'm going to let you have a block of stock in it for a quite nominal figure. it would be insulting you to give it to you for nothing, which is what i'd like to do, of course. but it amounts to the same thing. this stock here is worth thousands and thousands of dollars, and you shall have it for three hundred. have you got three hundred?" asked mr. waddington, anxiously.

"yes, sir, i have that sum, but...."

mr. waddington waved his cigar.

"don't use that word 'but'! i know what you're trying to say. you're trying to tell me, i'm robbing myself. i know i am, and what of it? what's money to me? the way i look at it is that, when a man has made his pile, like me, and has got enough to keep his wife and family in luxury, the least he can do as a lover of humanity is to let the rest go to folks who'll appreciate it. now you probably need money as much as the rest of them, eh?"

"i certainly do, sir."

"then here you are," said mr. waddington, brandishing the bundle of stock-certificates. "this is where you get it. you can take it from me that the finer and better motion picture company is the biggest thing since marconi invented the victrola."

officer garroway took the stock and fondled it thoughtfully.

"it's certainly very nicely engraved," he said.

"you bet it is! and look at those dollar-signs on the back. look at that seal. cast your eye over those signatures. those mean something. and you know what the motion-pictures are. a bigger industry than the beef business. and the finer and better is the greatest proposition of them all. it isn't like other companies. for one thing, it hasn't been paying out all its money in dividends."

"no?"

"no, sir! not wasted a cent that way."

"it's all still there?"

"all still there. and, what's more, it hasn't released a single picture."

"all still there?"

"all still there. lying on the shelves,—dozens of them. and then take the matter of overhead expenses,—the thing that cripples all these other film-companies. big studios ... expensive directors ... high-salaried stars...."

"all still there?"

"no, sir! that's the point. they're not there. the finer and better motion picture company hasn't any of these d. w. griffiths and gloria swansons eating away its capital. it hasn't even a studio."

"not even a studio?"

"no, sir. nothing but a company. i tell you it's big!"

officer garroway's mild blue eyes widened.

"it sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime," he agreed.

"the opportunity of a dozen lifetimes," said mr. waddington. "and that's the way to get on in the world—by grabbing your opportunities. why, what's big ben but a wrist-watch that saw its chance and made good?" mr. waddington paused. his forehead wrinkled. he snatched the bundle of stock from his companion's grasp and made a movement towards his pocket. "no!" he said, "no! i can't do it. i can't let you have it, after all!"

"oh, sir!"

"no. it's too big."

"oh, but, mr. waddington...."

sigsbee h. waddington seemed to come out of a trance. he shook himself and stared at the policeman as if he were saying "where am i?" he heaved a deep, remorseful sigh.

"isn't money the devil!" he said. "isn't it terrible the way it saps all a fellow's principles and good resolutions! sheer greed, that was what was the matter with me, when i said i wouldn't let you have this stock. sheer, grasping greed. here am i, with millions in the bank, and the first thing you know i'm trying to resist a generous impulse to do a fellow human-being, whose face i like, a kindly act. it's horrible!" he wrenched the bundle from his pocket and threw it to the policeman. "here, take it before i weaken again. give me the three hundred quick and let me get away."

"i don't know how to thank you, sir."

"don't thank me, don't thank me. one—two—three," said mr. waddington, counting the bills. "don't thank me at all. it's a pleasure."

3

upstairs, while the conversation just recorded was in progress, frederick mullett was entertaining his fiancée, fanny welch, to a light collation in the kitchen of george finch's apartment. it is difficult for a man to look devotional while his mouth is full of cold beef and chutney,—but not impossible, for mullett was doing it now. he gazed at fanny very much as george finch had gazed at molly waddington, hamilton beamish at madame eulalie, and as a million other young men in new york and its outskirts were or would shortly be gazing at a million other young women. love had come rather late to frederick mullett, for his had been a busy life, but it had come to stay.

externally, fanny welch appeared not unworthy of his devotion. she was a pretty little thing with snapping black eyes and a small face. the thing you noticed about her first was the slim shapeliness of her hands with their long, sensitive fingers. one of the great advantages of being a pickpocket is that you do have nice hands.

"i like this place," said fanny, looking about her.

"do you, honey?" said mullett tenderly. "i was hoping you would. because i've got a secret for you."

"what's that?"

"this is where you and me are going to spend our honeymoon!"

"what, in this kitchen?"

"of course not. we'll have the run of the whole apartment, with the roof thrown in."

"what'll mr. finch have to say to that?"

"he won't know, pettie. you see, mr. finch has just gone and got engaged to be married himself, and he'll be off on his honeymoon-trip, so the whole place'll be ours for ever so long. what do you think of that?"

"sounds good to me."

"i'll take and show you the place in a minute or two. it's the best studio-apartment for miles around. there's a nice large sitting-room that looks on to the roof, with french windows so that you can stroll out and take the air when you like. and there's a sleeping-porch on the roof, in case the weather's warm. and a bath h. and c., with shower. it's the snuggest place you'll ever want to find, and you and i can stay perched up here like two little birds in a nest. and, when we've finished honeymooning, we'll go down to long island and buy a little duck-farm and live happy ever after."

fanny looked doubtful.

"can you see me on a duck-farm, freddy?"

"can i?" mullett's eyes beamed adoration. "you bet i can see you there,—standing in a gingham apron on the old brick path between the hollyhocks, watching little frederick romping under the apple-tree."

"little who?"

"little frederick."

"oh? and did you notice little fanny clinging to my skirts?"

"so she is. and william john in his cradle on the porch."

"i think we'd better stop looking for awhile," said fanny. "our family's growing too fast."

mullett sighed ecstatically.

"doesn't it sound quiet and peaceful after the stormy lives we've led. the quacking of the ducks.... the droning of the bees.... put back that spoon, dearie. you know it doesn't belong to you."

fanny removed the spoon from the secret places of her dress and eyed it with a certain surprise.

"now, how did that get there?" she said.

"you snitched it up, sweetness," said mullett gently. "your little fingers just hovered for a moment like little bees over a flower, and the next minute the thing was gone. it was beautiful to watch, dearie, but put it back. you've done with all that sort of thing now, you know."

"i guess i have," said fanny wistfully.

"you don't guess you have, precious," corrected her husband-to-be. "you know you have. same as i've done."

"are you really on the level now, freddy?"

"i'm as honest as the day is long."

"work at nights, eh? mullett, the human moth. goes through his master's clothes like a jealous wife."

mullett laughed indulgently.

"the same little fanny! how you do love to tease. yes, precious, i'm through with the game for good. i wouldn't steal a bone collar-stud now, not if my mother came and begged me on her bended knee. all i want is my little wife and my little home in the country."

fanny frowned pensively.

"you don't think it'll be kind of quiet down on that duck-farm? kind of slow?"

"slow?" said mullett, shocked.

"well, maybe not. but we're retiring from business awful young, freddy."

a look of concern came into mullett's face.

"you don't mean you still have a hankering for the old game?"

"well, what if i do?" said fanny defiantly. "you do, too, if you'd only come clean and admit it."

the look of concern changed to one of dignity.

"nothing of the kind," said mullett. "i give you my word, fanny, that there isn't the job on earth that could tempt me now. and i do wish you would bring yourself to feel the same, honey."

"oh, i'm not saying i would bother with anything that wasn't really big. but, honest to goodness, freddy, it would be a crime to side-step anything worthwhile, if it came along. it isn't as if we had all the money in the world. i've picked up some nice little things at the stores and i suppose you've kept some of the stuff you got away with, but outside of that we've nothing but the bit of cash we've managed to save. we've got to be practical."

"but, sweetie, think of the awful chances you'd be taking of getting pinched."

"i'm not afraid. if they ever do nab me, i've got a spiel about my poor old mother...."

"you haven't got a mother."

"who said i had?... a spiel about my poor old mother that would draw tears from the woolworth building. listen! 'don't turn me over to the police, mister, i only did it for ma's sake. if you was out of work for weeks and starvin' and you had to sit and watch your old ma bendin' over the wash-tubs....'"

"don't, fanny, please! i can't bear it even though i know it's just a game. i.... hello! somebody at the front door. probably only a model wanting to know if mr. finch has a job for her. you wait here, honey. i'll get rid of her and be back in half a minute."

4

more than twenty times that period had elapsed, however, before frederick mullett returned to the kitchen. he found his bride-to-be in a considerably less amiable mood than that in which he had left her. she was standing with folded arms, and the temperature of the room had gone down a number of degrees.

"pretty girl?" she inquired frostily, as mullett crossed the threshold.

"eh?"

"you said you were going to send that model away in half a minute, and i've been waiting here nearer a quarter of an hour," said fanny, verifying this statement by a glance at the wrist-watch, the absence of which from their stock was still an unsolved mystery to a prosperous firm of jewellers on fifth avenue.

mullett clasped her in his arms. it was a matter of some difficulty, for she was not responsive, but he did it.

"it was not a model, darling. it was a man. a guy with grey hair and a red face."

"oh? what did he want?"

mullett's already somewhat portly frame seemed to expand, as if with some deep emotion.

"he came to tempt me, fanny."

"to tempt you?"

"that's what he did. wanted to know if my name was mullett, and two seconds after i had said it was he offered me three hundred dollars to perpetrate a crime."

"he did? what crime?"

"i didn't wait for him to tell me. i spurned his offer and came away. that'll show you if i've reformed or not. a nice, easy, simple job he said it was, that i could do in a couple of minutes."

"and you spurned him, eh?"

"i certainly spurned him. i spurned him good and plenty."

"and then you came away?"

"came right away."

"then listen here," said fanny in a steely voice, "it don't seem to me that your times add up right. you say he made you this offer two seconds after he heard your name. well, why did it take you a quarter of an hour to get back to this kitchen? if you want to know what i think, it wasn't a red-faced man with grey hair at all,—it was one of these washington square vamps and you were flirting with her."

"fanny!"

"well, i've read gingery stories, and i know what it's like down here in bohemia with all these artists and models and everything."

mullett drew himself up.

"your suspicions pain me, fanny. if you care to step out on to the roof, you can peek in at the sitting-room window and see him for yourself. he's waiting there for me to bring him a drink. the reason i was so long coming back was that it took him ten minutes before he asked my name. up till then he just sat and spluttered."

"all right. take me out on the roof."

"there!" said mullett, a moment later. "now perhaps you'll believe me."

through the french windows of the sitting-room there was undeniably visible a man of precisely the appearance described. fanny was remorseful.

"did i wrong my poor little freddy, then?" she said.

"yes, you did."

"i'm sorry. there!"

she kissed him. mullett melted immediately.

"i must go back and get that drink," he said.

"and i must be getting along."

"oh, not yet," begged mullett.

"yes, i must. i've got to look in at one or two of the stores."

"fanny!"

"well, a girl's got to have her trousseau, hasn't she?"

mullett sighed.

"you'll be very careful, precious?" he said anxiously.

"i'm always careful. don't you worry about me."

mullett retired, and fanny, blowing a parting kiss from her pretty fingers, passed through the door leading to the stairs.

it was perhaps five minutes later, while mullett sat dreaming golden dreams in the kitchen and sigsbee h. waddington sat sipping his whisky-and-soda in the sitting-room, that a sudden tap on the french window caused the latter to give a convulsive leap and spill most of the liquid down the front of his waistcoat.

he looked up. a girl was standing outside the window, and from her gestures he gathered that she was requesting him to open it.

5

it was some time before sigsbee h. waddington could bring himself to do so. there exist, no doubt, married men of the baser sort who would have enjoyed the prospect of a tête-à-tête chat with a girl with snapping black eyes who gesticulated at them through windows: but sigsbee waddington was not one of them. by nature and training he was circumspect to a degree. so for awhile he merely stood and stared at fanny. it was not until her eyes became so imperative as to be practically hypnotic that he brought himself to undo the latch.

"and about time, too," said fanny, with annoyance, stepping softly into the room.

"what do you want?"

"i want a little talk with you. what's all this i hear about you asking people to perpetrate crimes for you?"

sigsbee waddington's conscience was in such a feverish condition by now that this speech affected him as deeply as the explosion of a pound of dynamite would have done. his vivid imagination leaped immediately to the supposition that this girl who seemed so intimate with his private affairs was one of those secret service investigation agents who do so much to mar the comfort of the amateur in crime.

"i don't know what you're talking about," he croaked.

"oh, shucks!" said fanny impatiently. she was a business girl and disliked this beating about the bush. "freddy mullett told me all about it. you want some one to do a job for you and he turned you down. well, take a look at the understudy. i'm here, and, if the job's in my line, lead me to it."

mr. waddington continued to eye her warily. he had now decided that she was trying to trap him into a damaging admission. he said nothing, but breathed stertorously.

fanny, a sensitive girl, misunderstood his silence. she interpreted the look in his eye to indicate distrust of the ability of a woman worker to deputise for the male.

"if it's anything freddy mullett could do, i can do it," she said. she seemed to mr. waddington to flicker for a moment. "see here!" she said.

before mr. waddington's fascinated gaze she held up between her delicate fingers a watch and chain.

"what's that?" he gasped.

"what does it look like?"

mr. waddington knew exactly what it looked like. he felt his waistcoat dazedly.

"i didn't see you take it."

"nobody don't ever see me take it," said fanny proudly, stating a profound truth. "well, then, now you've witnessed the demonstration, perhaps you'll believe me when i say that i'm not so worse. if freddy can do it, i can do it."

a cool, healing wave of relief poured over sigsbee h. waddington's harassed soul. he perceived that he had wronged his visitor. she was not a detective, after all, but a sweet, womanly woman who went about lifting things out of people's pockets so deftly that they never saw them go. just the sort of girl he had been wanting to meet.

"i am sure you can," he said fervently.

"well, what's the job?"

"i want some one to steal a pearl necklace."

"where is it?"

"in the strong-room at the bank."

fanny's mobile features expressed disappointment and annoyance.

"then what's the use of talking about it? i'm not a safe-smasher. i'm a delicately nurtured girl that never used an oxy-acetylene blowpipe in her life."

"ah, but you don't understand," said mr. waddington hastily. "when i say that the necklace is in the strong-room, i mean that it is there just now. eventually it will be taken out and placed among the other wedding-presents."

"this begins to look more like it."

"i can mention no names, of course...."

"i don't expect you to."

"then i will simply say that a, to whom the necklace belongs, is shortly about to be married to b."

"i might have known it. doing all those bridge problems together, they kind of got fond of one another."

"i have my reasons for thinking that the wedding will take place down at hempstead on long island, where c, a's stepmother, has her summer home."

"why? why not in new york?"

"because," said mr. waddington simply, "i expressed a wish that it should take place in new york."

"what have you got to do with it?"

"i am d, c's husband."

"oh, the fellow who could fill a tank with water in six hours fifteen minutes while c was filling another in five hours, forty-five? pleased to meet you."

"i am now strongly in favour of the hempstead idea," said mr. waddington. "in new york it might be difficult to introduce you into the house, whereas down at hempstead you can remain concealed in the garden till the suitable moment arrives. down at hempstead the presents will be on view in the dining-room, which has french windows opening on to a lawn flanked with shrubberies."

"easy!"

"just what i thought. i will, therefore, make a point to-night of insisting that the wedding take place in new york, and the thing will be definitely settled."

fanny eyed him reflectively.

"it all seems kind of funny to me. if you're d and you're married to c and c is a's stepmother, you must be a's father. what do you want to go stealing your daughter's necklace for?"

"say, listen," said mr. waddington urgently, "the first thing you've got to get into your head is that you're not to ask questions."

"only my girlish curiosity."

"tie a can to it," begged mr. waddington. "this is a delicate business, and the last thing i want is anybody snooping into motives and first causes. just you go ahead, like a nice girl, and get that necklace and pass it over to me when nobody's looking, and then put the whole matter out of your pretty little head and forget about it."

"just as you say. and now, coming down to it, what is there in it for me?"

"three hundred dollars."

"not nearly enough."

"it's all i've got."

fanny meditated. three hundred dollars, though a meagre sum, was three hundred dollars. you could always use three hundred dollars when you were furnishing, and the job, as outlined, seemed simple.

"all right," she said.

"you'll do it?"

"i'm on."

"good girl," said mr. waddington. "where can i find you when i want you?"

"here's my address."

"i'll send you a line. you've got the thing clear?"

"sure. i hang about in the bushes till there's nobody around, and then i slip into the room and snitch the necklace...."

"... and hand it over to me."

"sure."

"i'll be waiting in the garden just outside, and i'll meet you the moment you come out. the very moment. thus," said mr. waddington with a quiet, meaning look at his young friend, "avoiding any rannygazoo."

"what do you mean by rannygazoo?" said fanny warmly.

"nothing, nothing," said mr. waddington with a deprecating wave of the hand. "just rannygazoo."