surprise
them."

Gradually the guests thinned out in the tea-room, but Shirley cautiously
waited until the last.

"Do you believe these young men are all members of the gang?" asked the
girl. "Why do you suppose these men are all criminals? They surely look
a bad lot."

"There are two general reasons why men go wrong. One is hard luck, aided
by tempting opportunity--they hope to make a success out of failure, and
then keep on the straight path for the rest of their lives. Such men
are the absconders, the forgers, the bank-wreckers, and even the petty
thieves. But once branded with the prison bars and stripes, they seldom
find it possible to turn against the tide in which they find themselves:
so they become habitual offenders. They are the easiest criminals to
detect. The second class are the born crooks, who are lazy, sharp-witted
and without enough will-power to battle against the problems of
honesty in work. It is easy enough to succeed if a man is clever and
unscrupulous without a shred of generosity. The hard problem is to be
affectionate, human, and conquer every-day battles by remaining actively
honest, when your rivals are not straight. The born crook is safer from
prison than the weakling of the first class." He looked down at the
coffee, and then continued.

"I do not believe all these young men are in this curious plot. They are
merely the small fry of the fishing banks: they are petty rascals, with
occasional big game. But somewhere, behind this sinister machine, is a
guiding hand on the throttle, a brain which is profound, an eye which
is all-seeing and a heart as cold as an Antartic mountain. There is the
exceptional type of criminal who is greedy--for money and its luxurious
possibilities; selfish--with regard for no other heart in the world;
crafty--with the cunning of an Apache, enjoying the thrill of crime and
cruelty; refined and vainglorious--with pride in his skill to thwart
justice and confidence in his ability to continually broaden the scope
of his work. Crime is the ruling passion of this unknown man. And the
way to catch him is by using that passion as a bait upon the hook. I
am the wriggling little angle worm who will dangle before his eyes
to-night. But I do not expect to land him--I merely purpose to learn his
identity, to draw the net of the law about him, in such a way as to keep
the Grimsby and Van Cleft names from the case."

"And how can that be done?"

"That, young lady, is my