yed by the delay, Cato. You see
he's on bigger jobs than this puny little affair of Bar, LeDuc's, and your
failure to appear on schedule time threw him out. Pearls aren't the only
chips in Darlington's game, my boy."

"Well--I couldn't help it," said Cato. "Bar, LeDuc's messenger didn't get
down there until five minutes of six."

"Why should that have kept you until eight?" said Holmes.

"I've got a few side jobs of my own," growled Cato.

"That's what Darlington imagined," said Holmes, "and I don't envy you your
meeting with him when he comes in. He's a cyclone when he's mad and if
you've got a cellar handy I'd advise you to get it ready for occupancy.
Where's the stuff?"

"In here, said Cato, tapping his chest.

"Well," observed Holmes, quietly, "we'd better make ourselves easy until the
Chief returns. You don't mind if I write a letter, do you?"

"Go ahead," said Cato. "Don't mind me."

"Light up," said Holmes, tossing him a cigar, and turning to the table where
he busied himself for the next five minutes, apparently in writing.

Cato smoked away in silence, and picked up Holmes's copy of the _Salmagundi
Magazine_ which lay on the bureau, and shortly became absorbed in its
contents. As for me, I had to grip both sides of my chair to conceal my
nervousness. My legs fairly shook with terror. The silence, broken only by
the scratching of Holmes's pen, was becoming unendurable and I think I
should have given way and screamed had not Holmes suddenly risen and walked
to the telephone, directly back of where Cato was sitting.

"I must ring for stamps," he said. "There don't seem to be any here.
Darlington's getting stingy in his old age. Hello," he called, but without
removing the receiver from the hook. "Hello--send me up a dollar's worth of
two-cent stamps--thank you. Good-bye."

Cato read on, but, in a moment, the magazine dropped from his hand to the
floor. Holmes was at his side and the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed
uncomfortably against his right temple.

"That bureau cover--quick," Raffles cried, sharply, to me.

"What are you doing?" gasped Cato, his face turning a greenish-yellow with
fear.

"Another sound from you and you're a dead one," said Holmes. "You'll see
what I'm doing quickly enough. Twist it into a rope, Jim," he added,
addressing me. I did as I was bade with the linen cover, snatching it from
the bureau, and a second later we had Cato gagged. "Now tie his hands and
feet with those cu