d two old frauds
five hundred pounds for that thing in London a couple of years
ago--it's absolutely worthless from the standpoint of art."

Gladwin looked at him in open-mouthed amazement and slid from the
chair to the floor.

How had this astounding person come by the secret of "The Blue Boy?"

There was a positive awe in Gladwin's gaze as he sized up the big
man--again from his shining patent leather shoes to his piercing eyes
and broad, intellectual forehead. He fairly jumped when the command
was repeated to take down the Rubens and hand it to him. As he handed
it over he stammered:

"I don't think much of this one, sorr."

"You don't?" said the other, in pitying disgust. "Well, it's a
Rubens--worth $40,000 if it's worth a cent."

"Yez don't tell me," Gladwin managed to articulate.

Indicating the full length portrait of the ancestral Gladwin, he
added, "Who is that old fellow over there, sorr?"

"Kindly don't refer to the subject of that portrait as fellow," the
other caught him up. "That is my great-grandfather, painted by Gilbert
Charles Stuart more than a century ago."

"You monumental liar," was on Gladwin's lips. He managed to stifle the
outburst and ask:

"Are yez goin' to take all these pictures away with yez to-night?"

"Oh, no, not all of them," was the careless reply. "Only the best
ones."

"How unspeakably kind of him!" thought the unregarded victim.

"If yez wanted the others," he said with fine sarcasm, "I could pack
'em up afther ye're gone an' sind thim to yez."

"That might be a good idea, Officer--I'll think it over," the pilferer
thanked him.

Then he went on with his task of taking the back out of the mounting
of the Rubens, showing that he did not trust his knife with such an
ancient and priceless canvas.

Gladwin was thinking up another ironic opening when the door bell
rang. He jumped and cried:

"If that's the lady, sorr, I'll go and let her in."

"No, you wait here," the other objected. "She might be frightened at
the sight of a policeman--you stay here. I'll let her in myself," and
he strode swiftly out into the hallway.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN WHICH THE HERO IS KEPT ON THE HOP.

Travers Gladwin watched the big handsome mis-presentiment of himself
disappear into the hallway with every nerve at full strain.

As he heard the door open, then a delighted feminine cry and the
unmistakable subtle sound of an embrace, he ground his finger nails
into his palms and b