r people know that they don't. You're clever, but so am I--in my
weak, small way. Come along, little girl."

He pulled my hand in his arm and we walked out, followed by the two men.

Oh, no! It was all very quiet and looked just like a little theater
party that had an early supper engagement. Obermuller nodded to the
manager out in the deserted lobby, who stopped us and asked me what I
thought of the star.

You'll think me mad, Mag. Those fellows with the badges were sure I
was, but Obermuller's eyes only twinkled, and the manager's grin grew
broad when, catching up the end of my skirt and cake-walking up and
down, I sang under my breath that coon-song that was trailing over and
over through my head.

"Bravo! bravo!" whispered the manager, hoarsely, clapping his hands
softly.

I gave one of those quick, funny, boyish nods the star inside affects
and wiped my lips with my handkerchief.

That brought down my house. Even the biggest fellow with the badge
giggled recognizingly, and then put his hand quickly in front of his
mouth and tried to look severe and official.

The color had come back to Obermuller's face; it was worth dancing
for--that.

"Be patient, Mag; let me tell it my way."

There wasn't room in the coupe waiting out in front for more than two.
So Obermuller couldn't come in it. But he put me in--Mag, dear, dear
Mag--he put me in as if I was a lady--not like Gray; a real one. A
thing like that counts when two detectives are watching. It counted
afterward in the way they treated me.

The big man climbed up on the seat with the driver. The blue-eyed
fellow got in and sat beside me, closing the door.

"I'll be out there almost as soon as you are," Obermuller said,
standing a moment beside the lowered window.

"You good fellow!" I said, and then, trying to laugh: "I'll do as much
for you some day."

He shook his fist laughingly at me, and I waved my hand as we drove of.

"You know, Miss, there may be some mistake about this," said the man
next to me, "and--"

"Yes, there may be. In fact, there is."

"I'm sure I'll be very glad if it is a mistake. They do happen--though
not often. You spoke of Dorgan--"

"Did I?"

"Yes, Tom Dorgan, who busted out of Sing Sing the other day."

"Surely you're mistaken," I said, smiling right into his blue eyes.
"The Tom Dorgan I mentioned is a sleight-of-hand performer at the
Vaudeville. Ever see him?"

"N--no."

"Clever fellow. You ought to