orted Gladwin, "and let me tell you that this little
excursion of yours has gone far enough. I'll give you one chance--get
away from here as quickly as you can."

The big fellow curled one corner of his lip in a contemptuous smile,
then glanced about him quickly and asked:

"Where's the young lady?"

"Never mind the young lady," Gladwin flung back at him. "It was only
on her account that I let you go as far as this. Now get out and keep
away from that young lady--and drop my name."

The sneering smile returned and balancing himself easily as he looked
down on Gladwin, he said:

"Easy, son--easy. I don't like to have little boys talk to me like
that," and turning to the doorway behind him he beckoned. The obedient
Watkins sidled in and stopped with head averted from Gladwin, who
started with surprise at seeing him.

Stepping forward and making sure there could be no mistake, Gladwin
turned to the thief and exclaimed:

"Oh, now I understand how you knew all about my house. This is what I
get for not sending this man to jail where he belonged."

"Don't bother with him, Watkins," snarled the big fellow, as he noted
his companion's complexion run through three shades of yellow.

"There's no time to bother with him," he went on, and reaching out he
caught Travers Gladwin by the shoulder and whirled him half way across
the room.

The young man spun half a dozen times as he reeled across the carpet
and he had to use both hands to stop himself against a big onyx table.
As he pulled himself up standing he saw that Watkins had lifted the
trunk on his shoulders and was headed for the hallway.

"Phelan!" he gasped out. "Here, quick!"

Officer 666 came out with the snort and rush of a bull.

"Stop that man," cried the thief, pointing to Watkins, "he's trying to
get out of here with a trunkful of pictures."

The man's hair-trigger mind had thought this out before Phelan was
half way round the table. One lightning glance at the thickness of the
patrolman's neck and the general contour of his rubicund countenance
had translated to him the sort of man he had to deal with.

"Here--here--put down that trunk," spluttered Phelan, brandishing his
club at Watkins. Watkins dropped the trunk and at a signal from his
companion was gone. Swiftly and silently as he vanished, he could not
have been half way to the door before the thief urged Phelan:

"Quick--go after that man--he's a thief!"

"Stop Phelan!" cried Gladwin, who ha