f the neighbors
happen to drop in for a cup of tea and see me, or if the police should
manage to trail me here,--and they may, you know,--of course, Matilda,
you'll speak right up and say I'm your dear brother."

At that moment it was beyond either of them to speak right up.

"Remember, my dears, that we're all crooks together," he prompted in a
soft voice, that had a steely suggestion beneath it. "And in case you
fail to stand by me it would give me very great pain--very great pain,
I assure you--to have to blow on you."

Matilda gulped, blinked her eyes, and looked helplessly at Mrs. De
Peyster. Mr. Pyecroft turned to the latter.

"Of course, Angelica, dear, you're going to stand by me?"

Mrs. De Peyster hesitated, then breathed a barely audible "Yes."

"And you, Matilda, who were always my favorite sister, you, too, will
stand by me?"

"Yes," breathed Matilda.

"Ah," said Mr. Pyecroft, in a moved tone, "such family loyalty is
truly touching. I foresee a most pleasant summer."

CHAPTER XIII

THE HAPPY FAMILY

He nodded at the two with an air of deep fraternal affection. And
again he gazed with satisfaction about the spacious apartment,
indicative of numberless other rooms of corresponding comfort.

His eyes came back to them.

"And now, Matilda, my dear," he resumed, with his pleasant smile, "in
the event we spoke of,--neighbors or police dropping in, you know,--in
such a case I suppose I ought to be prepared with a correct history of
myself. To begin with, might I inquire what our name is?--our family
name, I mean."

"Simpson."

"Simpson. Ah, yes; very good. Matilda Simpson--Angelica Simpson--and,
let us say, Archibald Simpson. And where was I born, Matilda?"

"You weren't ever born," protested Matilda with frightened
indignation.

"Now don't be facetious or superfluous, sister dear," he said
soothingly. "Granted for the sake of argument I wasn't ever born. But
where might I have been born?"

"I was born near Albany."

"Near Albany is perfectly agreeable to me," said Mr. Pyecroft. "And
how many are there in our family?"

"Just Angelica and me."

"Then there really is an authentical Angelica?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. And our parents?"

"They died when I was a child."

"I'm grieved, indeed, to learn of it," said Mr. Pyecroft. "But I'll
admit it simplifies matters; there's less to remember. Angelica,
our sister here, who is also visiting you, lives near Syracuse I
understood some