Standing as stiff and immovable as if he had been turned to stone, Travers Gladwin peered with one eye through the narrow aperture he had slashed in the heavy brocade portiÈre. Still gazing into inky darkness he could hear the cautious tread of two persons. His senses told him that one of the visitors was a heavy, sure-footed man and that the other was of lighter build and nervously wary. His deductions ceased instantly as a flash of light crossed his vision.

For a moment the concealed watcher saw nothing save the incisive ray of light that cut like a knife thrust through the darkness; then as he followed the shaft of light to its source he made out the silhouette of a man in evening dress––a white shirt front, square shoulders that branched off into the nothingness of the cloaking shadows and a handsome, sharp profile that lost itself in the gloom of a silk hat.

He also made out a cane from which the flashlight beamed. It was a new device to the experience 169 of Travers Gladwin, and he watched it with the same fascination that a man is wont to manifest in the gleam of a revolver muzzle that suddenly protrudes itself from the mysterious depths of night.

The wielder of this smart burglar’s implement did not move as he gashed the darkness with the ray of light, and to Gladwin he seemed inordinately calm. His companion was somewhere behind him, groping, and did not come into the picture until suddenly he found the push button in the wall and switched on the full glare of the electroliers suspended from the ceiling.

Gladwin saw and recognized. He drew in a deep breath of surprise.

It was Watkins, the thieving butler he had discharged in London. His attention did not linger on this familiar soft-shuffling tool of the master thief, however, but snapped back to the big, good looking young man with the branching shoulders and erect, confident carriage.

Used as he was to immaculate exteriors, Travers Gladwin had never seen a better groomed man. He had never seen a man with a quicker eye and more unconscious grace of movement.

It was no wonder that bitter envy gnawed his heart for a little while as there rose again before him the picture of that bewilderingly pretty girl and her passionate insistence that she would elope with “Travers Gladwin” in spite of any and all obstacles.

That underneath all these splendid sheathings the man had the mean spirit of a deceiver and a robber never entered the young man’s head.

But presently things began to happen with such avalanching rapidity of action that there was not even a second to spare for speculation upon the vast gap between their social positions.

The lights had hardly been switched on before the big fellow put the sharp query to his companion:

“Watkins, is this room just as you left it when you went away with Mr. Gladwin?”

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Watkins, with characteristic deference of tone. “Bateato, the Jap, closed the house.”

“H’m,” said the other, laying his cane and hat on a table and drawing from the pocket of his light overcoat a blue print diagram of the house. Casting his eyes about the room, he unfolded the diagram and pointed to it, nodding his head behind him for Watkins to come and look.

“We’re in this room now,” he said, easily.

“Yes, sir.”

“Out that way is the corridor to the kitchen.”

He pointed to the panel-like door which a few minutes before had swallowed the very much undressed Officer 666.

“Yes, sir.”

“And there’s no other way out save through the front door or by way of this balcony behind those curtains?”

“No, sir.”

“And,” still running his finger over the diagram, “on the floor above are Gladwin’s apartments.”

“Yes, sir, at the head of the stairs––first door to the left.”

“H’m, very good,” slipping the diagram back into his pocket and lifting his eyes to the great portrait of the ancestral Gladwin.

“Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly and with palpable relish, “that’s a Stuart! Is that the great-grandfather, Watkins?”

“Yes, sir,” responded Watkins, without any of his companion’s enthusiasm.

“H’m,” with the same grim emphasis, and off came the overcoat to be carelessly tossed across his hat and stick. His eye fell upon the great antique chest by the wall.

He lifted the lid to inspect its void interior. Glancing up above it, he motioned to Watkins and said:

“Here, help me get this out of the way.”

Watkins glided to one end of the chest and together they hauled it clear of the wall. This done, he addressed Watkins as if he were but a creature to command:

“I can manage alone in here, but I want to be ready to leave by the time Miss Burton arrives. You go outside and wait in the car––and keep a sharp lookout.”

Watkins bowed himself out with his stereotyped, “Yes, sir,” and the door clicked gently after him.

The now lone invader returned to his interested survey of the paintings that covered the walls, turning easily on his heel until his line of vision embraced “The Blue Boy.”

From his difficult peephole Travers Gladwin could see the sharp, stern features wrinkle with smiles before the intruder laughed lightly and breathed with seeming great enjoyment:

“Ha! The Blue Boy.”

The smile went out as swiftly as it had come and was replaced by an utterly different expression as he swung about and visualized the Rembrandt on the wall above where the great empty chest had stood.

There was reverence and quick admiration in every feature as he bowed and exclaimed with a long sigh:

“Rembrandt! Rembrandt! God!––to paint like that!”

The emotions of this remarkable young man came and went with the quickness of his eye.

While still in the act of outpouring his admiration he whipped from the tail of his dress coat a flat fold of a dozen or more sheets of wrapping paper, shook them out and laid them on the lid of the chest.

With another swift gesture he produced a knife, sprang the thin gleaming blade and walked up to the Rembrandt.

He raised the knife to the canvas with the ease of a practiced hand, when he heard a movement behind him, and turned his head.

Travers Gladwin had stepped from the sheltering screen of portiÈres and stopped abruptly.

Whatever shock this sudden apparition of a uniformed policeman was to the man caught in the act of cutting a priceless canvas from its frame he managed to conceal by taking tight grip of every muscle in his body.

His eyes revealed nothing. There was no rush of color to or from his face. His first change of expression was to smile.

Dropping the arm that poised the knife, he let himself down easily from tiptoe and turned squarely to Gladwin.

“Good evening, Officer,” he said without a tremor, showing his teeth in as engaging a smile as Travers Gladwin had ever looked upon.

“Evenin’!” said Gladwin, shortly, with an admirable affectation of Phelan’s brogue.

“Do you find something on the balcony that interests you?” said the other slowly, still holding his smile and his amazingly confident bearing.

“You climbed up there to enjoy the moonlight, perhaps?” he added, even more softly, gaining reassurance from the wooden expression that Gladwin had forced upon his features.

“No, not the moonlight,” responded the uniformed similitude of Officer 666, “the other light. I seen ’em go on. This house has been closed for months.”

“Oh, yes, to be sure,” the other shrugged. “You’re 174 most alert, Officer––right on the job, as they say. I congratulate you.”

“I’ve been watching this house ever since Mr. Gladwin went away,” said Gladwin slowly, unable to make up his mind whether to call Phelan or to continue the intensely interesting dialogue.

His visitor decided the situation for him by coolly lighting a cigar, taking a few deliberate puffs and turning it over in his fingers to inspect it as if it were the only object worth attention in the room.

Gladwin read this elaborate by-play for what it was worth––an effort to decide just how best to play his part––and was pleasantly thrilled with the realization that he himself was so well disguised in the uniform of Officer 666.

So he clung to his own rÔle and forgot Michael Phelan.

“H’m,” said the invader, reflectively. “That’s very good of you, Officer. Let me offer you this as a slight token of my appreciation.”

His left hand slid into his trousers pocket and brought up a roll of bills. His nonchalance was a perfect mask as he stripped off one of the bills and held it out carelessly to Gladwin.

On his part, Gladwin’s expression was superbly blank as he reached for the bill, pocketed it and said with his purring brogue:

“Thank ye, sorr! And might I ask who ye are?”

“H’m, that’s good,” chuckled the other, now thoroughly master of himself and utterly confident.

“Now, who do you suppose, Officer, would come to the front door––unlock it––walk in and turn up the lights?––a thief?”

“They do sometimes,” said Gladwin, cocking his head to one side with an air of owlish wisdom.

The other raised his eyebrows to express surprise.

“Do they really?” he drawled. “You amaze me, Officer. I’ve always supposed they broke in somehow and used dark lanterns.”

“Not always,” said Gladwin, obstinately.

The big man shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, puffed his cigar for a moment and said indulgently:

“Well, I’m sorry, Officer, to deprive you of the pleasure you would evidently derive in catching a thief and making an arrest. Now,” with a light laugh, “who might you imagine I was?”

“Well, if I wasn’t sure Mr. Gladwin was across the Atlantic I’d imagine that yez were Mr. Gladwin himself.”

This was said with such laborious canniness that the thief made haste to discover just how the land lay.

“Oh, so you’re sure Mr. Gladwin is abroad, eh?”

“Well, I see be the papers.”

A real hearty laugh escaped this time, and he added brightly:

“Well, Mr. Policeman, I’ll tell you something to help you make a good shrewd guess––Mr. Gladwin is not abroad!”

“Then yez are Mr. Gladwin, sorr!” cried the young man eagerly, as if delighted at the discovery.

The other leaned back against the table, crossed one foot over the other and said musingly:

“You found me out, Officer––I must admit it. Permit me to thank you again for looking out for my house, and if you don’t mind I’ll double this little reward.”

Again the roll of bills came out and another $20 gold certificate was gathered in by Officer 666, who grinned as he took it.

“Thank ye, sorr!”

The gesture with which this second benefaction was bestowed was a gesture of dismissal and the bestower set off on an easy saunter about the room, humming a tune.

Officer 666 did not move, and after a moment the other casually remarked:

“You don’t seem to be in any hurry to get back to your post, officer.”

“No, sorr––I ain’t in no hurry.”

“Have a cigar, then,” and one was offered with the same assumption of good-natured indifference that had accompanied the tender of the bribes. Gladwin accepted the cigar, took off his cap, dropped it in and returned the cap to his head.

The thief was puzzled for a moment, until it occurred to him that it would suit his purpose best to have this thick-skulled copper in his company rather 177 than have him go outside and discuss the matter with a more shrewd superior. Therefore he said quickly:

“Oh, officer, could you be spared off your rounds for, say, an hour?”

“Why, yes, sorr; I think so.”

“Well, I want you to do me a favor. I’ll pay you well for it.”

“What is it?”

“You look to me like a chap who could keep a secret?”

“That’s part o’ me trade.”

“Good! Well, then, I’m expecting a call from a lady.”

“Oh, I see, sorr,” and Gladwin forced another fatuous grin.

“No, you don’t see,” said the other, impressively. “This lady is my fiancÉe.”

“Well, that’s your business, sorr.”

Gladwin was beginning to enjoy the battle hugely.

“You don’t understand,” explained the thief. “I’m about to be married.”

“Oh, yez are about to be married!” with a slight wince.

“Yes, I’m going to be married to-night––secretly.”

“Is that so? Well, I can’t help yez about that, can I?”

“Oh, yes, you can, because I want it kept quiet on the lady’s account.”

“Well, I’ll help you keep it quiet 178 on the lady’s account!” with an emphasis that got away from him, but was misinterpreted.

“Good!” and out came the roll of bills again and another yellow boy was slipped into the greedy palm of Officer 666.

“Thank you, sorr. But what can I do, sorr?”

“I’ll show you later on. In the mean time help me take the covers off this furniture and make the place look habitable. Hurry now, for I haven’t much time. That’s the idea––brisk. Switch on the hall lights––you can find the button. Then go upstairs and straighten my room.”

Gladwin stopped in his activities as if he had run against a wall.

“Your room, sorr?”

“Yes, at the head of the stairs, first door to the left. Then come back here and help me pack.”