I first went to William H. Seward Square. But the air
in that Yiddish country--wonderful, dear sir. Regard me; punch, poke,
pound where and how you like. Sound as a bell you'll find me. Now I
pass on. I yield place to you. The honor, dear sir, is mine."

"I confess that I am interested," said Indiman. "The conditions are
simply--"

"Your personal day and night tenancy of the chambers in the Barowsky
Building for a period of not less than three months. I should have
explained that the rooms really form a bachelor's suite, all furnished,
of course."

"There are papers to sign?"

"Only the assumption of the office lease, and I'll give you a bill of
sale for the furniture." Mr. Chivers laid the documents before Indiman;
the latter glanced them over and drew out his fountain-pen. A quick
look, one of satisfaction and understanding, passed between Chivers and
Dr. Magnus. I caught it and tried to convey a warning to my friend. But
he had already affixed his signature to the lease of the offices in the
Barowsky bank building. Chivers did the same for the bill of sale.

Indiman gathered up the ten one-thousand-dollar bills and stuffed them
into his pocket. "Want a receipt?" he asked.

"It is not necessary."

"Well, at least, we must have a bumper to celebrate the conclusion of
the transaction. Waiter."

We took a cab in the gray of the dawning hour and drove home. As might
have been predicted, my spirits had dropped to the zero-point again.

"I don't like it--frankly, I don't, old man. What if it should be a
trap?"

Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said.
"That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be.
It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the
wherefore."

Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we
ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his
treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned
impatiently.

"Well, what is it?" he asked

"You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?"

It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was
holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New
York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to
trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he
was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience
thus agreeably stimulated.

"'Scuse me,