tural."

"Yes?" Average Jones peered out of the window. "Is this the man, coming
up the street?"

"It surely is," said the old lady. "Now, Mister Jones, if he commences
his blaring and blatting and--".

"There'll be no more music, ma'am," promised the young man, laughing, as
she went out to answer the door-bell.

The musician, ushered in, looked about him, an expression of bewildered
and childish surprise on his rabbit-like face.

"I am Schlichting," he murmured; "I come to play the B-flat trombone."

"Glad to see you, Mr. Schlichting," said Average Jones, leading the way
up-stairs. "Sit down."

The visitor put his trombone down and shook his head with conviction.

"It iss the same room, yes," he observed. "But it iss not the same gent,
no."

"You expected to find Mr. Ransom here?"

"I don't know Mr. Ransom. I know only to play the B-flat trombone."

"Mr. Ransom, the gentleman who employed you to play in the street in
Brooklyn."

Mr. Schlichting made large and expansive gestures. "It iss a pleasure to
play for such a gent," he said warmly. "Two dollars a day."

"You have played often in Kennard Street?"

"I don't know Kennard Street. I know only to play the B-flat trombone."

"Kennard Street. In Brooklyn. Where the fat gentleman told you to stop,
and fell out of the window."

A look of fear overspread the worn and innocent face.

"I don't go there no more. The po-lice, they take there."

"But you had gone there before?"

"Not to play; no."

"Not to play? Are you sure?"

The German considered painfully. "There vass no feet in the window," he
explained, brightening.

Upon that surprising phrase Average Jones pondered. "You were not to
play unless there were feet the window," he said at length. "Was that
it?"

The musician assented.

"It does look like a signal to show that Linder was in," mused the
interrogator. "Do you know Linder?"

"I don't know nothing only to play the B-flat trombone," repeated the
other patiently.

"Now, Schlichting," said Average Jones, "here is a dollar. Every evening
you must come here. Whether I am here or not, there will be a dollar for
you. Do you understand?"

By way of answer the German reached down and listed his instrument to
his lips.

"No, not that," forbade Average Jones. "Put it down."

"Not to play my B-flat trombone?" asked the other, innocently hurt. "The
other gent he make play here always."

"Did he?" drawled Average Jones. "And he--er--lis