nts--and some not even that. We could have Johnson out there
chasing us over the country at five dollars an hour!"

"He can chase us just as well at five miles an hour," I said. "But what
gets me, McKnight, is why I am under surveillance at all. How do the
police know I was accused of that thing?"

"The young lady who sent the flowers--she isn't likely to talk, is she?"

"No. That is, I didn't say it was a lady." I groaned as I tried to get
my splinted arm into a coat. "Anyhow, she didn't tell," I finished with
conviction, and McKnight laughed.

It had rained in the early morning, and Mrs. Klopton predicted more
showers. In fact, so firm was her belief and so determined her eye that
I took the umbrella she proffered me.

"Never mind," I said. "We can leave it next door; I have a story to tell
you, Richey, and it requires proper setting."

McKnight was puzzled, but he followed me obediently round to the kitchen
entrance of the empty house. It was unlocked, as I had expected. While
we climbed to the upper floor I retailed the events of the previous
night.

"It's the finest thing I ever heard of," McKnight said, staring up at
the ladder and the trap. "What a vaudeville skit it would make! Only
you ought not to have put your foot on her hand. They don't do it in the
best circles."

I wheeled on him impatiently.

"You don't understand the situation at all, Richey!" I exclaimed. "What
would you say if I tell you it was the hand of a lady? It was covered
with rings."

"A lady!" he repeated. "Why, I'd say it was a darned compromising
situation, and that the less you say of it the better. Look here,
Lawrence, I think you dreamed it. You've been in the house too much. I
take it all back: you do need exercise."

"She escaped through this door, I suppose," I said as patiently as I
could. "Evidently down the back staircase. We might as well go down that
way."

"According to the best precedents in these affairs, we should find a
glove about here," he said as we started down. But he was more impressed
than he cared to own. He examined the dusty steps carefully, and once,
when a bit of loose plaster fell just behind him, he started like a
nervous woman.

"What I don't understand is why you let her go," he said, stopping once,
puzzled. "You're not usually quixotic."

"When we get out into the country, Richey," I replied gravely, "I am
going to tell you another story, and if you don't tell me I'm a fool and
a craven, o