his back.

"There, thief of the wor-ruld!" says she. "Tell 'em whatever you came
to steal."

"Go on," says I. "Mind the lady."

"I--I'm no thief; really, gentlemen," says he. "You can see that, I
trust."

"Sure!" says I. "Just mistook the basement for the drawin'-room,
didn't you? And you was about to leave cards on the fam'ly. What name
did you say?"

"I--I'd rather not give my name," says he, hangin' his head.

"It's being done in the best circles," says I. "These calls incog. are
gettin' to be bad form. Isn't that right, Mr. Pettigrew?"

"If he is a gas man or a plumber," says Waldo, "why doesn't he say so
at once?"

"There's your cue," says I. "Now come across with the alibi."

"I--I can't explain just how I happen to be here," says the gent,
"but--but there are those who can."

"Eh?" says I. "Oh-ho!"

It was only a quick glance he shot over, but I caught who it was aimed
at. Also, I noticed the effect. And just like that I had a swift
hunch how all this ground-floor mix-up might be worked in useful.

"Mr. Pettigrew," says I, "suppose I could Sherlock Holmes this laundry
mystery without callin' in the cops?"

"Oh, I should be so grateful!" says T. Waldo.

"That ain't the answer," says I. "Would it make you feel different
about sellin' that land?"

"Oh, I say, you know!" protests T. Waldo, startin' to stiffen up.

For a two-by-four he lugs around a lot of cranky whims, and it looked
like this was one of his pets. There's quite a mulish streak in him,
too.

"All right," says I, startin' towards the basement stairs. "Settle it
your own way."

"But, really, I--I don't know what to do," says Waldo. "I--I'm all
upset. Of course, if you insist on the land--"

"That's talkin'!" says I. "My guess is that it won't take long.
Suppose you and Peters go back upstairs. You can leave Tidman, though."

"You--you're sure it is safe?" asks Waldo.

"Look at that grip of Mrs. Flynn's," says I.

After one skittish glance, Waldo does a quick exit. At that, though,
Peters beat him to it.

"Tidman," says I, when they're gone, "we'll step out towards the back a
ways and consult. Hold him a minute longer, Mrs. Flynn."

"I--I don't see why I should be dragged into this," whines Tidman, as I
leads him towards the rear.

"Never mind," says I. "We're goin' to clear this all up right away.
Now, who is he, Tidman? Black-sheep brother, or what?"

Got a jump out of him, that jab did. But h