er in his
company rather than have him go outside and discuss the matter with a
more shrewd superior. Therefore he said quickly:

"Oh, officer, could you be spared off your rounds for, say, an hour?"

"Why, yes, sorr; I think so."

"Well, I want you to do me a favor. I'll pay you well for it."

"What is it?"

"You look to me like a chap who could keep a secret?"

"That's part o' me trade."

"Good! Well, then, I'm expecting a call from a lady."

"Oh, I see, sorr," and Gladwin forced another fatuous grin.

"No, you don't see," said the other, impressively. "This lady is my
fiancee."

"Well, that's your business, sorr."

Gladwin was beginning to enjoy the battle hugely.

"You don't understand," explained the thief. "I'm about to be
married."

"Oh, yez are about to be married!" with a slight wince.

"Yes, I'm going to be married to-night--secretly."

"Is that so? Well, I can't help yez about that, can I?"

"Oh, yes, you can, because I want it kept quiet on the lady's
account."

"Well, I'll help you keep it quiet _on the lady's account_!" with an
emphasis that got away from him, but was misinterpreted.

"Good!" and out came the roll of bills again and another yellow boy
was slipped into the greedy palm of Officer 666.

"Thank you, sorr. But what can I do, sorr?"

"I'll show you later on. In the mean time help me take the covers off
this furniture and make the place look habitable. Hurry now, for I
haven't much time. That's the idea--brisk. Switch on the hall
lights--you can find the button. Then go upstairs and straighten my
room."

Gladwin stopped in his activities as if he had run against a wall.

"Your room, sorr?"

"Yes, at the head of the stairs, first door to the left. Then come
back here and help me pack."

CHAPTER XXVII.

MISADVENTURES OF WHITNEY BARNES.

Just as it had not occurred to Travers Gladwin to ask Michael Phelan
to define the limits of his beat along Fifth avenue so it happened
that Whitney Barnes went forth in search of his friend without even
the vaguest notion of where he might be found.

It is doubtful if young Mr. Barnes knew what a policeman's beat was.
Certainly he did not conceive of it as a restricted territory.

He had gone about six blocks at his best stride, eagerly scanning both
sides of the avenue before the thought came into his mind that he
might be going in the wrong direction and that he might keep on
indefinitely to the Staten Island ferry an