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| TheStrange Adventures |;
J . K
! of Christopher Poe
:3 Stories of Strange Cases Solved in Secret by a Banker-Detective :::‘
O
! By ROBERT CARLTON BROWN ‘
:} (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) E:E
, ».«
il A VAUDEVILLE SKETCH
X "
s A —————
Moonlight nights and pay days
gleamed with almost equal luster to
private watchman Hopking, who had
a round on Royal street which in
cluded the big New Orleans Antique
exchange, the Louis XIV TPurniture
factory, a small shop for old-fashioned
jewelry, a molasses warehouse, and
the old Dubois home.
There was certain relief for him
in reaching out for a door-knob in
plain sight; there was sure satisfac
tion in passing the trap corner be
tween the furniture factory and the
jewelry store, where some one might
be lurking with a gun to stick in his
face uhseen on moonless nights; but,
best of all, he could see plainly the
vicious great Dane which Armand Du.
bois, cowardly miser that he was, kept
to protect the hoardings in his house.
There is, just before dawn, a breath
less space, an awesome gap, in which
the moon is making ready to surrender
her silver scepter to the sun; it was
at this awesome hour that private
watchman Hopkins unlocked the
front gate to the Dubois home,
slipped softly up the front steps, and
tried the door-knob for the twentieth
time that night. At his first step on
the walk Alert, the vicious great Dane,
had growled, and bounded toward him
on the long wire to which he was
chained so that he could run the
length of the house and guard the rear
door and windows. The great beast
chafed on his chain while Hopkins
passed within six feet of his snapping
jaws, to try the side door. As he as
cended the steps, Alert ground out a
eeries of guttural growls and barked
in a low, vicious rumble, as was his
invariable custom.
When Hopkins mechanically tried
the door and passed back along the
walk, the dog raced beside him on his
wire, straining, jerking to lessen that
six-foot gap, struggling to get at him;
snapping, growling. Armand Dubois
had trained his dog to make friends
with no one, and he himself stood ten
yards away and threw meat at him
through a window at meal-times.
When Hopkins had gained the front
gate, he took his customary deep
breath of relief and continued on his
round.
Fifteen minutes later he was back,
and Alert greeted him wm‘tem' usual
_growl, and disputed every step he took
?Mfih*%fi*’fl%s it was
“the influence of that uneaey period |
just before dawn, but Hopkins felt
that Alert was the least bit fiercer
than usual.
But everything was all right, the
doors had not been tampered with,
though Hopkins laughed at the notion
of anybody getting as far as his first
step into the yard without Alert arous
ing all Royal street.
Just as he was approaching the
front gate again and gasping for his
usual deep breath of relief, a window
on the second floor of the Dubois
house flew up; Alert made an instan
taneous bound, flung himself in the air
toward the nightcapped vision framed
in the sash, was jerked back to the
ground by his chain and lay stunned
for a moment while the nightcapped
figure screamed:
“Help! Robbers! Thieves! Rob
bers!”
Windows in several near-by houses
popped up. Night watchman Hopkins,
glancing at the dog, dropped his elec
tric stick, pulled his gun, and dashed
toward the front stairs. The dog
scrambled to all fours, emitted a lion
like roar, hunched together, and with
dripping jaws and wild glaring eyes
sprang for Hopkins just as he grasped
the porch-rail. The running wire drew
taut, held, and then snapped with a
loud report. Alert, free from his chain,
sprang for Hopkins. The nightcapped
old man in the window threw up his
hands, screamed “Mon Dieu!” and
dropped limp, half over the sill. Hop
kins threw himself back, and pulled
at the trigger of his gun with both
hands.
A crash of bone, an agonized groan,
and Alert humped over in a heap on
the cement walk at Hopking’ feet, his |
massive skull crushed in by a big bul
let.
Hopkins flew up the steps and
pounded on the door, fumbling his key
chain blankly, and trying to force the
door, for Dubols’ nature was 80 sus
picious that he would not even allow
his watchman a key to his door, lock
ing everything from the inside with
bolts and padlocks,
Keeping one eye om the quivering
heap at the foot of the eteps, Hopkins
pounded until the soft clap of hustling
steps in shiftless slippers came to his
expectant ears,
“That you, Hopkins?” came an anx
fous cry in a cracked voice from with
in.
“Yes, Mr. Dubois, for the love of
heaven, open up! I told you this would
happen if you—"
The door was opened a erack before
he finished, and the frightened face
that had appeared beneath the night
cap in the window etarted out.
“For God's sake, come In!" cried
old Dubois querulously, grasping Hop
kins' shoulder with palsied hand, and
pulling him within, “There's a nasty
crowd collecting in front. Bring in
that porch-chalr—l don't know how I
forgot it last mnight; they might get
through the gate and steal it. Hurry!”
“Where are the robbers?”
“Gone!” zried Dubois, straining his
wrinkled neck forward, and moisten
ing his throat with an effort as he
spoke.
“Are you sure? What did they get?”
“Everything! Lock!” Dubois had
pushed the watchman up the stairs to
the second floor, and pointed a shaking
finger through an open door, holding
to the wall for support and gasping for
breath as he spoke. “Everything—
look! All my money in bills; stacks,
stacks of bills!”
There was a rickety antique Shera
ton four-poster, Dubois’ bed, and on it
was the cloth-covered box of a bed
gpring, gaping open, half filled with a
scattering of crumpled papers. The
bed-clothes were thrown in a heap in
!one corner of the room. Hopkins
stepped back in surprise. His foot
came down on a wad of cotton; he
picked it up, and stood fingering it ab
sently as he stared at the wrecked
bed. ¢
“Then you did sleep on your money
in place of a mattress, as people al
ways said?” he queried.
“Yes, yes. There is no use,” the
quaking old man stood glassy-eyed,
glaring at the empty spring box, “there
is no use to deny it now. I kept every
thing—all—in that box, packed in
among the springs. Stacks, stacks and
stacks of bills! I did—did—" He
stopped, clawed forward one of his
large flapping ears, and stood strain
ing to catch the repetition of a sharp
sound he had picked from other noises
rising from below.
Hopkins was sniffing at the piece of
cotton he had picked up beside the
bed.
| “Chloroform!” he exclaimed, drop
ping lit.
‘ “Eh!” cried old Dubois, jerking his
hand from his ear, and thrusting it in
to the opening of his nightshirt.
“They chloroformed you, and threw
you into the corner with your shoes
and the bed-clothes, while they rifled
the treasure chest.”
“Eh? Yes. I—l heard them at my
bedside, then I was on the floor, and 1
couldn’t use my arms, my. legs, my
tongue, and I knew they were taking
‘my poor bills, in stacks—a‘tlacks and
stacks of them!” His :g;g%' ‘hand
umytpqfi?n?pfiiue&fn geagfflm'
off again: “Listen! What’s that?
There’s somebody fooling with the
front gate.”
. He rushed to the window, which he
‘had again carefully locked after recov
ering from his faint, craned his cordy
neck toward the front of the house,
and tottered as he shook his quivering
fist at a nondescript fellow in a mod- |
est business suit and ordinary derby
who must have clambered over the
locked iron gate regardless of its
pricking points, and was busily at work
stretching out the limp form of Alert.
“Leave that dog alone! Get out of
there, or I'll—"
Dubois in an insane moment tore
an antiqgue French firearm tremblingly
from the bosom of his nightshirt,
where, to Hopkins’ surprise, he had
been concealing it.
“Don’t!” cried the watchman, jump
ing forward to grasp the quivering
hand attempting an aim.
“I'll protect my place—my right—
I'll="
Dubois’ twitching jaws dropped
open; he stared at the man below
who, aroused by the commotion in the
window, glanced up, picked a small
filmy object like a sausage-skin from
one of the points of Alert’s massive
‘studded collar, and slipped through the
front gate, which he opened with an
easy twist as though it were not
locked,
“You left it unlocked?” cried Dubois.
“I did not!” Hopkins denied. “Who
the devil is the fellow? I never saw
him before. Do you suppose he—"
“lI don't suppose anything—" Du
bois thrust out his lower jaw threat
eningly. “You’re hired to protect me;
why do you let him run away? May
be__"
Hopkins, having leaped to the same
unexpressed conclusion, turned, and
rushed down the stairs, stopped at the
gate, unlocked it, and cried to the
group of newsboys, neighbors, tamale
men, market boys, and other early
birds collected in front, “Where'd he
go?”
“Where'd he go?”
“Who?"
“The man-—~the man—" Hopkins
strove for some description—‘“the man
with the black derby.”
A boy in front grinned, and glanced
around at the circle of men towering
above him. “Every feller in the bunch's
got on a black derby 'cept us kids.”
Hopkins stood chagrined. He had
seen the man, front, side, and rear
view for a full minute, but was at an
utter loss to describe him.
“The man who just came out of the
gate. He took something that looked
like the rubber of a toy balloon from
the dog's collar,’ he cried.
“Oh, him ?” answered the boy. “The
feller that monkeyed with the dog? |
thought he belonged there. He had a
key. Where did he go, now?”
Some said one way, and some eald
alother, but it was quite apparent that
CHARLTON COUNTY HERALD, FOLKSTON, GEORGIA.
the man had slipped in and out un
noticed, due to his plain appearance
and his matter-of-fact manner,
The square-chested man in the black,
derby was Christopher Poe, the promi
nent banker from the north, enjoying
his second week's vacation in the car
nival city. He had no sooner shut the
Dubois gate behind him, and stuffed
the skinlike object into his pocket,
than he slipped through the collecting
crowd, without touching any of the
onlookers or attracting attention by
any unusual move. He walked to the
corner without once turning around,
crossed the street, and returned brisk
ly to the edge of the crowd just in
time to hear Hopkins cross-question
ing the small boy.
Poe nodded his head with the rest,
and agreed quickly with somebody
who had pointed out at random the di
rection he had taken. ‘As a member
of the crowd, as an unobtrusive unit,
he was utterly unnoticeable. He stayed
no longer than the rest, and said, just
like everybody else in parting from
‘the man who stood next him:
~ “I'll bet it was the feller in the derby
hat. Wonder what it was the kid said
he took off the dog.”
Having heard all the facts and con
jectures, Poe walked to the corner
again, turned up the side street, and
paced slowly down Bourbon past a
block of cheap lodging-houses, largely
occupied by vaudeville artists, travel
ing fakers, and-other true ?ohemians.
Each old house had, like so many of
the dwellings in the French quarter of
New Orleans, a courtyard in the rear, j
divided from the courts on the next
street by high brick walls,
Stopping at the house which backed
directly against old Dubois’, Christo
pher Poe inserted a key, twisted it
sharply twice, glanced up and down
the street, opened the door, and
stepped in, closing it quickly after him,
and standing motionless at the spot
where his first step had brought him.
That he was listening intently was
disclosed by his suspended breath. In
that moment one hardly would have
described him as Hopkins had—a hu
man blank. His eyes were focused in
tently toward the top of the dim, wind
ing old staircase in front of him; his
mouth was drawn into a firm, pur
poseful line; his form was lithe and
strong; he seemed the very embodi
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ment of some forceful idea. His pose
was histrionic; he appeared to have
thrown himself into a part he was
about to play.
Soon stealthy footsteps from above
shuffled through the silence. Poe re
moved his derby, outer coat, tie and
shoes in a series of quick movements.
Running firm fingers through his neat
‘hair, he mussed it up, and with the
same motion snatched a fawn-colored
theatric raincoat from the hall-rack,
loosened his suspenders, turned up the
collar of the raincoat he had donned,
and sneaked silently upstairs, his man
ner that of a drowsy lodger wakened
against his will to make an early train.
On the second floor he paused, took
out his watch, deliberately set it back
half an hour, wrapped it in the
wrinkled, skinlike object he had re
moved from Alert’s collar, and, having
located the sounds in a rear room, ap
proached the door with audible tread,
and knocked lightly,
The shuffing steps within ceased.
There came no answer,
“I say-pardon me--you folks goin’
take the six-fifty, too?” he said sleep
ifly. “Can I borrow a collar? Heard
you kickin’ around and-" ‘
The door was abruptly opened a
crack by a wiry young man, short, and
with a pleasant face. A emall femi
nine hand rested on his shoulder, and
seemed to be tugging him back,
“A collar? BSure thing. What size
do you wear?”’ asked the short, flush
faced young fellow through a crack in
the door.
“Six an’ seven-elghths, I mean fif
teen an’' a quarter. Say, you ain’t the
Twirley Twins, are you?” asked the
man in the passageway, throwing back
one side of the fawn.colored cravenette
to remove a wallet from his hip-pocket,
“The very same!” cried the amiable
young man, gquinting his eyes profes
sionally through the gloom, and open
ing the door another notch in spite of
the restraining hand on his shoulder,
“Saw you work down in San Antone.
Good act that! Where's the missis?
(‘*ever kiq!”
“'Thanks! Will this collar do?” A
forced feminine voice came from with
in, and a mate to the hand on the Twir
ley shoulder pushed a stiff, starchy
circle of white quiveringly through the
opening.
“That ain’t a collar. That's a cuff!”
cried Poe, quickly dropping behind
him the article he had asked for and
selecting a card from his wallet which
bore the name of Hardy. He handed
it to the man with a laugh as an ex
clamation of disappointment came
from the woman.
“Thomas Hardy,” read the Twirley
Twin. “Not the Thomas Hardy, angel
of the Merry Whirl show ?”
“The very same. What's left of
him,” said Poe promptly, smiling to
himself at being called “angel” of a
company he had formed under his as
sumed name only as an adjunct to a
scheme for running down one of the
‘eleverest bank-swindlers in New York.
He drew the raincoat closer about him
and edged into the doorway.
“‘Come in. Come in. Glad to see
‘you,” cried the young fellow, who had
been with the Merry Whirl company
and to whom its backer was a great
man.
A cry of alarm from the woman,
“I'm not dressed! Dick, don't let him
in. I'm not dressed.”
But her husband (a }win only in the
profession) had already thrown the
door open, and disclosed her to the
keen eyes of Christopher Poe, fully
gowned in a somewhat worn traveling
suit.
© “By George, I'm glad to see you,
Mr, Hardy. Kid, shake hands with the
best in the business. A game backer
and a good loser. I'd tell you to take
off your hat to him if I thought you'd
ever get it back on straight.”
Mrs. Twirley bowed stiltedly, and
sald in a very stagy aside:
“Dick, we must be going. We'll
miss that train.”
“What time you got, Mr. Hardy?"
asked the Twirley Twin.
Christopher Poe drew out his watch,
and with a comfortable yawn removed
it from the thin skin covering. “Five
thirty,” he announced, exhibiting the
watch-dial to the Twirley Twins and
exclaiming: “Oh, that watch-case? It's
just a souvenir,” as he saw their eyes
riveted on the wrinkled skin in his
other hand.
Mrs. Twirley sniffed cautiously
twice, glinted her eyes at Poe, and
stepped back quickly to seat herself
on two suit-cases in a corner, covering
them completely with her skirts, Her
husband stood etupefied, sniffing the
air also, and staring at the wunique
watch-case.
“Came from Paris,” continued Poe
pleasantly, rubbing the skin between
his fingers fondly. “You know, it's just
what'’s left of one of these little harle
quin bladders they use on a string to
smash each other over the head with
in team work. Dlidn’t you use them in
that pantomime acrobatic stunt I saw
you in three years ago at Frisco?”
“Yes, I believe we did.” Mrs, Twir
ley cleared her throat harshly, and
continued: “But it didn’t smell of
chlo—" Bhe ended in a stifled scream,
and rushed towurd the man she had
heard of as a theatrical banker, cry-
Ing: “Look out! That picture behind
you is falling.”
Poe made a quick move as if to look,
but Instead etepped forward, and
caught Mrs, Twirley's hand as it
emerged from beneath a newspaper on
‘tho table, containing the butt of a
small revolver.
Poe, holding her hand so the iron
was directed at her amazed husband,
who had stepped back involuntarily,
slzed up the weapon In a sharp
scrutiny, dropped her hand, and
laughed: “Only a property pistol!
You may resume your seat on those
two sult-cases you were guarding”
“Twirley,” he turned to the young
man, who, face dough-like, was trying
to master his quivering frame. “7Twir
ley, I want to talk business with you=
sit over there.” 4
- The young fellow dropped limp in
the seat indicated, as Christopher Poe
dropped to the edge of a straight
backed chair, and tilted it to a com
fortable angle against the door of the
room. Mrs. Twirley sat on the suit
case, one cheek drawn up in a hard
ened, sarcastic smirk, her eyes smol
dering sullenly.
“How long have you folks been out
of work?"” asked Poe sharply.
“Seven months,” said Twirley in a
hollow tone.
“I see. That's a long time,” mused
Poe. “And you've been living in this
room two months.”
“On credit,” put in Mrs. Twirley
with a twist of her lips.
“Stranded,” added her husband.
“Too bad. You must have been des
perate,” continued Poe thoughtfully,
switching his gaze to Mrs. Twirley.
“No clothes—nothing, Hard luck!” he
said. “Damn hard luck. Clever people
you were, too—too many acrobatic
teams though-—that was your trouble.”
“Yes, we used to get good money—
we stayed stiff-necked a while, and
then when we was ready to take cheap
bookings nobody wanted us; other
head-liners had come down first an’
filled in.”
“Tough luck., But why didn't you
use your brains? Why didn't you beat
the conditions, adapt yourselves to a
new act?” asked Poe in a high-pitched
earnest tone. ‘I can't see why the
devil two clever people like you should
ever get stranded. You've been in this
reom two months, and right through
that shade behind you, Mrs. T. you
saw the house of Armand Dubois every
day, and you couldn’t have missed
hearing the rumor that he kept his for
tune in cash in his mattress. You
heard, too, the barking of that big
beast that protected his wealth. With
your clever mind why didn’t you work
out a sketch for you and Dickie to do
in vaudeville?”
He stopped, and looked squarely at
the pair, their eyes glancing shiftily
about, their fingers fidgeting. “Now,
you were interested in this harlequin
bladder that smells of chloroform,”
continued Poe. “What if I were to tell
you that it was used in an act by a
clever young couple I once knew in—
well, in Paris? What if—"
“Oh, don’t beat around the bush,”
cried Mrs. Twirley sullenly, then blaz
ing up. “What's your game? What
are you trying to get at? What—"
Christopher Poe held up his hand
for silence as Twirley, his eyes bulging,
his mouth panic-set, leaned toward
him, fingers and eyelids twitching.
“Now wait—wait! Here's a eketch
idea for you folks. Listen to it!” con
tinued Poe. “You can pull down three
hundred a week with it easy with your
acrobatic ability and cleverness,
“Once upon a time—in Paris, you
understand-—there was a clever young
couple like you kids. Stranded team
of acrobats; pantomime people. They
lived in a rear room of a cheap the
atrical rooming-house, just one flight
chain to protect a miser's gold.
“One day the woman, the cleverer
of the two, goaded to envy and despair
by the sight of professional women
finely clad and at work, suddenly
thought of the great dependence that
old miser had on his man-eating dog.”
The Twirley Twins were drawing
unconsciously nearer together, as
though for protection, and the flush
was leaving their faces, slowly fixing
into awed, gaping blanks as Christo
pher Poe continued.
“The money of that miser worried
the woman. She couldn’t sleep, she
couldn’t eat, and finally she worked
out a scheme—a good scheme, a
shrewd scheme. She told it to her
husband in a wild mood, never think
ing of it as a practical matter. He,
poor devil, urged on by debt, took a
practical view of it, and they were
about to execute the scheme when sud
denly the idea came that while the
chances were that their careful plan
would work they might be caught later
on; and the thought came, too, that
they might not enjoy the miser's gold
after they had it.”
Mrs. Twirley tossed back her head,
and laughed sharply, artificially, as
Poe paused. He fixed his eyes on her.
“So the woman suggested that gince
the idea of robbing the old miser was
80 completely figured out as to almost
defy detection, and since they were
letter-perfect in rehearsing the act, it
would be better to play a sure thing.
So she sat down and worked out the
practical plan of the robbery into a
twenty-minute vaudeville skit for her
self and husband, and they had already
got into the spirit of the thing so well
from considering it as a possible
crime, that at a tryout bhefore a good
manager they were offered two hun
dred a week and a bonus If it went
big.”
“Sounds good!” remarked Mrs, Twir
ley, breathing fiercely. “But are you
quite sure you know the plot of that
sketch?”
~ Her husband's fists clenched till the
knuckles shone stark and white, His
small black eyes plerced to the core of
the raconteur, before him,
“Yes, are you quite sure?’ he
breathed viciously,
“Oh, the plot,” said Poe lightly.
“Yes, it was so simple. I'd ‘most for
gotten. The sketch opens during the
hour just preceding that dumb dark
ness before dawn, The vaudeville palr
are disclosed in their room; the man
i 8 dressed in a fine dog-skin, a good
make-up, a hide the exact counterpart
of the miser's Great Dane, The wom
an is dressed in black trousers and
coat, carries a Jimmy with which she
has practiced, a dark lantern, a re
volver like this"—-as he picked up the
one from the table by way of illustra
tion, the Twirley woman sank back
agalnst the wall, a low cry escaping
her—-"and a harlequin’s bladder filled
full of chlorotorm and tightly tied. A
second scene shows the man and wife
together on one side of a high wall
dividing the stage; it is the garden
wall separating their court from the
miser’s. The man, being an acrobat,
climbs up to the top so skillfully that
the dog lying below on the other side
hears nothing until a skin full of liquid
bursts on one of the pointed studs of
his collar, a big stone drops at the
same instant on his head and stuns
him, he opens his mouth and gags for
breath with which to bark, sucks in
the chloroform and succumbs. -
“The man gives a signal to the wom
an; she climbs to his side, together
they drop over into the court; the man
in his dog-skin suit unsnaps the Great
Dane’s chain, and attaches it to a
duplicate collar about his own neck.
“He has no sooner attached the
chain and dropped to all fours when
the sharp click of a key in the front
gate announces the approach of the
watchman on his regular fifteen-minute
round. The woman darts to a rear win
dow they have examined from their
room with a glass and found to be a
weak point, guarded only by the dog,
and she works quietly while her hus
band leaps forth boldly, snaps at the
watchman, imitates the dog's bark ex
actly, and rages back and forth angrily
in the moonlight to convince the
watchman that all is well and the
house perfectly protected. He had
practiced the part for weeks, you see,
and was letter-perfect in it. I saw the
sketch when it was produced in Lon
don, and I could not tell him from the
real dog. This scene occurs at that
fearfal moment, the darkness before
dawn; the watchman notes that the
dog is a bit fiercer than usual, and
draws a deep sigh of relief as he
reaches the gate. The stage is dark
ened and the audience hushed,
“Before the watchman makes his
next round the trick is done. The
nervy, desperate woman has chloro
formed the miser and rifled his mat
tress. The real dog is fast reviving
from the effects of the chloroform. The
whole thing has been nicely timed,
and the pair just disappear over the
wall with their booty in a black apron
like that in the corner there, when the
dog, whose collar has been reattached
to the chain by the man when through
with his little impersonation, leaps out
and barks at the watchman, who is
just arriving on his rounds. The ani
mal, maddened on his recovery, lunges
at the watchman, and barks so furious
ly that the noise brings the old miser
out of his stupor; the dog leaps in the
air and breaks his chain as the miser
throws up his window to cry for help.
As a grand finale the dog is shot just
before he leaps on the watchman, thus
giving tangible proof that the animal
had been on guard all the time, and
covering up the real entrance and exit.
of the burglars. Then the curtain goes
‘down amid great applause.”
There was dead silence as Christo
pher Poe finished and steod up, his
eyes darting beneath %Wi”
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fifty,” he said m o
‘thought you'd iet me into the room to
sort of prove an alibi if you needed one
—I mean in skipping your board bill
or some other crime you may have
committed—so I accommodatingly set
my watch back half an hour to cover
the minutes during which the crime
might have been committed. [ knew
you would both be relieved to hear mo
announce that it was only five-thirty.”
Neither spoke. Suddenly Mrs, Twir
ley swung around and demanded:
~ “Well, how the devil did they prove
the crime on the team in your precious
sketch?”
“Oh, there wasn't any crime at all,
The couple reconsidered their action,
decided they could make more money
on the stage with the sketch, and re
peating the crime in acrobatic panto
mime every night for five or six years
at fifty dollars a night with perfect
security of physical and mental free
dom. 8o in a little third ecene in the
sketch they called a messenger boy,
and sent him round to the miser with
two suit-cases packed with his money.
‘That pleased the audience and—"
} Mrs, Twirley stared at him as
‘though he were unreal, and threw her
‘hands to her head in a frenzy, écream
ing:
“How in heaven did you ferret out
all this, you—you weasel?”
“I've got a room looking out Into
the Dubols court myself,” smiled Poe,
turning toward her frankly, now that
she had given in. “It's just next door.
I've heard Dickie bark in imitation of
Alert to entertain the landlady. I've
seen you both examining that Dubois’
window with the telescope. I was
more or less prepared, and being some
what of a night-prowler myself, I just
happened around with a skeleton key
or two and gathered a bit of material
for a—vaudeville sketch. [ can get
you booked either way you like, at
Billy Ryan’s Vaudeville agency or the
station house. It's up to you!”
The woman looked sharply from Poe
to her husband, and then furtively at
the two suitcases which she had left
unguarded in the corner,
“He's only blufling, Dickie!” she
cried,
“I know it,” Twirley answered. “But
it sort of stands to reason I'd rather
get fifty a week clean from Billy Ryan
than fifty thousand that'd stick llke
mud to my fingers every time | started
to spend it.”
“Bully for you!” eried Christopher
Poe. "I've got a skeleton plan of the
sketech In my pocket here. I'll back
you two for a set of props. Your wife
and I will go over the sketch, Dickle,
while you run out and call a messen
ger.”
Mrs. Twirley, with a submissive
gulp, burst into a flood of genuine
tears.
"Yes,” she sald softly. “Go abead,
Dickie, he's got the real dope.”