The slamming of the front door of the Gladwin mansion struck upon the two young men as a numbing shock. They stood looking at each other with eyes that saw not and with expressions of idiotic vacancy.

Within the span of a brief half hour they had been swept along on a rushing tide of emotions. They had been thrilled and mystified, mystified and thrilled. Nor was there any relief in the reaction. There was more mystery and more thrill ahead that demanded immediate action.

Naturally the bulk of the thrill was heaped upon Travers Gladwin. He was not only fiercely convinced that he had fallen desperately in love, but the unknown beauty who had kindled this passion had revealed that she was coming that night to his home to meet and elope with a villain and an impostor.

Here was a situation to scatter the wits of a Napoleon! It was no wonder that for a few moments his thoughts flattened themselves against an impassable barrier. Whitney Barnes was the first to revive and speak.

“Now what do you think of that?” he drew out with a long breath.

“I haven’t begun to think yet,” Gladwin managed to stammer. “I’m in no condition to think. I’m stunned.”

“And you’ve travelled all over the universe in search of a thrill, eh? Now you’ve got one you don’t know what to do with it.”

While Gladwin was groping for a reply to this thrust Bateato breezed in with a swift sidelong rush, carrying a bulging portmanteau.

“Bag all packed, sair,” announced the little Jap, standing at attention.

“Take it back. I’m not going now,” said Gladwin, gruffly. Bateato’s entrance had nipped another idea in the bud.

“You no go?” said the Jap, in surprise.

“No go––take back––unpack.”

“Ees, sair; ’scuse me,” and Bateato started off with his usual noiseless rush.

“Hold on,” Gladwin checked him. “Wait a minute. Don’t unpack it. Leave it in the hall. I may want it at a minute’s notice.”

“Ees, sair,” and the wondering valet steamed out into the hallway and vanished.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Barnes, lighting a cigarette and offering one to his friend.

Gladwin took a turn about the room, puffing nervously at the cigarette. Coming to a sudden stop he faced Barnes and reeled off in a quick volley:

“I’m going to marry that girl! I’ve been all over the world, seen all kinds of ’em, and right here in my own house I find the one––the only one, on the verge of eloping with a bogus me. But I’m going to expose that man whoever he is––I’m going to rescue her from him.”

“For yourself?”

“Yes, for myself, and I’m going to put him where he can never annoy her any more.”

“How the deuce are you going to do all this?” asked Barnes, planking himself down into a chair.

“I don’t know,” said the other, “but I’m going to move the whole Western Hemisphere to do it, if necessary.”

“Rather a large contract,” drawled Barnes. “But I say, Travers, if that fellow is going to steal your pictures it sort of sizes up as a case for the police.”

“Of course,” agreed Gladwin. “I was just thinking of that. Where’s that man of mine? Bateato! Bateato!”

Bateato responded with the swift obedience of a jinn rising from a miraculous bottle.

“Ees, sair,” and the little son of Nippon stood stiffly at attention. “Ladies run off in autbile,” he volunteered as his master hesitated.

“Never mind that––I want you to find a policeman,” commanded Gladwin.

“Pleesman––where I find him?” asked Bateato in alarm, recalling his uncomfortable experience with Officer 666.

“Try a saloon,” said Gladwin. “And when you’ve found him, bring him here quick!”

“Ladies steal something?” ventured the Jap, starting for the door. “Autbile go fast like winds.”

“Some one is going to try and steal something,” replied the young man. “We must see that they don’t. Hurry, now!”

“Ees, sair. ’Scuse me,” and Bateato vanished.

“That’s the way to do it,” Barnes enthused, rubbing his hands. “Get a policeman in here, and when the other Mr. Gladwin shows up nab him. Then this marriage can’t come off without the aid of a prison chaplain.”

The excitement that for an instant had transfigured Travers Gladwin suddenly left him. A look of dismay spread over his features.

“By Jove, Barnes!” he cried. “We can’t do this!”

“Why not?” asked Barnes.

“Why? Because it would make a tremendous scandal. I’m not going to have my future wife mixed up in any public hoorah for the newspapers. Think of it––her name in the papers coupled with the name of a crook! Her picture on one side and a Rogues’ Gallery photograph on the other. Impossible! The police must know nothing about it.”

“I don’t follow you,” said Barnes. “What are you going to do––kill him and stuff him in that chest? He probably deserves it, but it would he an awfully unpleasant thing to have around the house.”

“Shut up! Let me think,” cut in Gladwin.

Then he added with swift inspiration: “Now I’ve got it. I’ll wait outside for her to come and warn her of her danger. You stay in here and be on the lookout for the man.”

Whitney Barnes threw up his hands and ejaculated:

“Good night!” He made as if to start for the door.

“No, no, Whitney,” cried Gladwin, “we must see this thing through together. You wouldn’t want this sweet, young, innocent girl connected with a sensational robbery, would you?”

“No,” Barnes agreed soberly; “neither would I want any robber’s bullets connected with me.”

“You’re a coward!” blurted Gladwin, hotly.

“You bet I am,” acquiesced Barnes, “and I’m alive to tell it. Likewise I may have some marriage plans of my own. But keep your hair on, Travers. Let us do some real thinking, unaccustomed as we are to it, and see if we cannot devise some safer plan.”

“What plan is there?” groaned Gladwin.

“Let us think––concentrate,” suggested Barnes, posing himself with his elbow on one hand and his forehead supported on the fingers of the other. Gladwin unconsciously fell into the same pose, and so they stood, side by side, with their backs to the hallway.

“Thought of anything?” Barnes broke the silence.

“Not a ––– thing,” retorted Gladwin, peevishly. 123 A broken-legged minute had crawled by when Barnes spoke again:

“I’ve got it.”

“What?” Gladwin asked, uninspired.

“Simplest thing in the world. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be any good,” muttered Gladwin, without relinquishing his thoughtful pose.

“Listen,” said Barnes, impressively. “Go straight to the aunt and tell her the whole thing.”

Gladwin whirled around and gripped his friend’s hand.

“By Jove, you’re right, Whitney! We can make a lot of excuses for her, youth and innocence, and all that. I didn’t think you had it in you. Come on, we’ll go together!”

Barnes’s face fell and he stammered:

“But where does she live?”

“Where does she live? Don’t you know?”

“No.”

It was Gladwin’s turn to throw up his hands.

“And don’t you even know her name?”

“No.”

“Then how in blazes were you going to call on that girl?”

“By thunder! I forgot all about getting her address,” admitted the crestfallen Barnes.

Gladwin uttered a mirthless laugh and said with sarcastic scorn:

“Oh, yes, you had a fine plan! I might have suspected as much.”

“Pile it on; pile it on,” growled Barnes. “I guess the pater has me sized up about right.”

“But we must do something the police will know nothing about,” urged Gladwin. “Let’s concentrate again. Maybe a real idea will break out.”

Again the two young men wrinkled their brows in profound absorption.

They succeeded so well in their effort at concentration that neither was aware of the precipitate entry of Bateato and Michael Phelan, both of whom had sprinted a distance of two blocks. Phelan was puffing like a tugboat and stopped at the threshold of the room to catch his breath. He had prepared his mind for all manner of excitement and had burst in upon a tomb-like silence to be greeted by two inscrutable backs.

“What’s this,” he panted. “Eden Musee or a prayer-meetin’?”

Barnes glanced over his shoulder and frowned.

“Keep quiet,” he said. “We’re thinking.”

Gladwin strove to invent an excuse for getting rid of the policeman.

“What do you want?” he bluffed, as if amazed at the sudden invasion.

“What do I want?” shrilled Officer 666. “I come to find out what youse want.”

“I don’t want anything,” said the young man with 125 exaggerated politeness. “Thank you very much, but I don’t want anything. Good evening!”

“Good evening!” echoed Barnes, with another glance over his shoulder.

Michael Phelan turned purple. He hadn’t indulged in the most exhausting sprint in six months to be made sport of.

“Which one of youse sent for me?” he rasped out.

The two young men pointed to each other, which only served to fan the flame of Phelan’s wrath.

“Is one of youse Mr. Gladwin?” he gurgled.

They repeated the pantomime until Gladwin caught the fire in Phelan’s eye and decided that it would be better to temporize.

“I am Mr. Gladwin,” he bowed.

Phelan measured him from the ground up as he filled his lungs for another outburst.

“Why did yez send for me?” he demanded savagely. “This here little Japanaze come runnin’ wild-eyed down me beat an’ says there’s two women been robbin’ the house. What’s all this monkey business?”

“Bateato is mistaken,” said Gladwin, forcing a laugh.

“No, sir!” cried the Jap excitedly. “Ladies run off quick in big autbile”–––

“Now wait––that’s enough,” Gladwin stopped him.

“You tell me find plece,” persisted the Jap, who saw the terrible wrath of Michael Phelan about to flash upon him.

“That’s enough,” Gladwin sought to shut him up.

“You say they steal––I go saloon”–––

“Don’t talk any more! Don’t speak again! Go back to the hotel and wait for me. I’ll send for you when I want you. Stop! Not another word.”

Bateato gripped his mouth with his fingers and stumbled out of the room.

Avoiding the still glowering eye of Officer 666, Travers Gladwin turned to Barnes and attempted to say casually:

“When Bateato gets an idea into his head there is no use arguing with him. There is only one thing to do––don’t let him speak.”

The young man started to hum a tune and strolled toward the heavily curtained window that looked out on Fifth avenue.