sharing with Mike. I was watching them over the
park wall when May came along. I sent them all, and the bone, home in
a taxicab."

"In a which?" ejaculated the boy, while his eyes popped.

"In a taxi," said Gladwin, lightly.

"Aw, say," and the little chap's jaw fell, "now I know you're kiddin'.
Where'd May git the price of a taxi, an'"----

"Oh, I arranged all that," the uniformed mystery explained reassuringly,
"and if you'd like I'll call one for you. You look pretty tired. I guess
you've walked a good many miles on the trail of Mike."

The youngster tried to speak, but could not. The very thought of a
ride in a taxicab froze his brain. Gladwin took him by the hand and
led him to the curb.

"Now, would you prefer a yellow or a red one?" he asked. "There's all
kinds going by."

"Yaller," cried the boy. "I likes them best."

They had only a moment to wait, when one of the mystic yellow hue
cruised round a corner and came toward them. Gladwin hailed it and the
chauffeur stopped with a wondering look at the pair.

Gladwin had a bill ready in his hand and passed it up to the
chauffeur.

"Take this boy over to No. 287 East Eightieth street," commanded
Gladwin, "and whatever you've got left out of the tenspot above what
the meter registers, split the change with the boy. And as for you
son, patting the urchin on the head, you keep your eye peeled on the
meter."

"Gee! Will I?" responded the boy, and as Gladwin opened the door he
hopped in and took up a perch where he could best observe the
fascinating operations of the register.

The chauffeur, a bullet-headed, cross-eyed individual, squinted at the
bill half a dozen times before he stowed it away in his pocket and set
the meter. Then he made a swift, fierce scrutiny of Travers Gladwin's
face, shook his head, swallowed a mouthful of oaths, threw in the
clutch and spurted diagonally for the cross street.

As he vanished, the uniformed similitude of Officer 666 consulted his
watch, made out that it was almost 10.30 and strode rapidly in the
direction of his home. He wore a smile that was fairly refulgent.

"Wouldn't have missed this night patrol for a hundred thousand," he
said inwardly--"and they say that the life of a patrolman is a
monotonous drudgery."

Arriving at the stoop of his home he reconnoitered the avenue in both
directions and then looked up at the black windows of the house. A
sudden lull had come upon the neighborhood and there seemed not