"Just like an old-fashioned picture," said Bat, the quaint
characteristics of the composition in the frame of the window appealing
to him. "I wonder if I've not been a little hasty with these notions of
mine about this place. That old lad looks as harmless as----"

But he stopped! For the composition below had suddenly changed. Some one
had evidently knocked at the door of the room in which old Bohlmier
sat. One hand had reached, in a clawing motion, at the music; the flute
was held pinned to the table in a bony, convulsive grip by the other;
the bald head was thrust forward and seemed to wave gently to and fro
like that of a snake. The big athlete drew in his breath, hissingly.

"The bets are off!" said he, between his teeth. "That old rat's got it
in him! I'll bet his veins run ice water; and if you gave him the chance
to knife a man, you'd be doing him a favor."

The Swiss had apparently spoken to whomever had knocked, and now,
although still invisible to Bat, had entered the room. Bohlmier leaned
back in his chair, his hands clasped before him; but from the motions of
the shiny poll, Bat knew he was speaking.

"That room must be somewhere behind the office," Bat told himself.
"Maybe a private den of the old fellow's."

Here Bohlmier suddenly pushed back his chair and stood up. With head
thrust forward once more he seemed to stab a question at his visitor, a
question apparently of vast importance. Evidently this was answered to
the liking of the Swiss; eagerly, triumphantly, inquiringly, one hand
went up and hung pointing across the room to a point behind the other.

"The door's there," said Bat, intuitively getting the meaning of the
gesture. "And on the other side of it is some one, or something the old
man's been expecting to see."

Then there followed a period of earnest talk between the hotel-keeper
and the unseen visitor. It was carried on in a low tone; Bat recognized
this fact by the attitudes and gestures of the old Swiss who finally,
with almost trembling hands, pulled open a drawer in the table at which
he had been seated. From this he took something which he patted, almost
fondly. But a hand came across the table--the hand of the unknown--a big
bony hand, and pushed it aside.

"It's Big Slim!" exclaimed Bat, with fresh interest. "And old smooth top
is up to something he don't like."

The tall burglar now came into view; he sat upon the corner of the table
and bent his head toward the Swiss, ges