celess packet in my hand.

"No, I'm not forgetting. I saw a couple of the names on the envelopes
and I rather think these letters will be a whole heap interesting to
look over," said he, imperturbably. "It's a hunch, parson, and I've
gotten in the habit of paying attention to hunches. I'll risk it on
these, anyhow. They're in suspicious company and I'd like to know
why." And he thrust the package into the crook of his arm, along with
the tools.

The light was carefully flashed over every inch of the space we had
traversed, to make sure that no slightest trace of our presence was
left. As we walked through Inglesby's office John Flint ironically
saluted the life-like portrait:

"You've had a ring twisted in your nose for once, old sport!" said he,
and led me into the dark hall. We moved and the same exquisite caution
we had exercised upon entering, for we couldn't afford to have Dan
Jackson's keen old ears detect footfalls overhead at that hour of the
morning. Now we were at the foot of the long stairs, and Flint had
soundlessly opened and closed the last door between us and freedom.
And now we were once more in the open air, under the blessed shadow of
the McCall trees, and walking close to their old weather-beaten fence.
The light was still shining in the bank, and I knew that that
redoubtable old rebel of a watchman was peacefully sleeping with his
gray guerilla of a marauding cat beside him. He could afford to sleep
in peace. He had not failed in his trust, for the intruders had no
designs upon the bank's gold. Questioned, he could stoutly swear that
nobody had entered the building. In proof, were not all doors locked?
Who should break into a man's office and rob his safe just to get a
package of love-letters--if Inglesby made complaint?

I remember we stood leaning against the McCall fence for a few
minutes, for my strength had of a sudden failed, my head spun like a
top, and my legs wavered under me.

"Buck up!" said Flint's voice in my ear. "It's all over, and the
baby's named for his Poppa!" His arm went about me, an arm like a
steel bar. Half led, half carried, I went staggering on beside him
like a drunken man, clutching a rosary and a packet of love-letters.

The streets were still dark and deserted, the whole town slept. But
over in the east, when one glimpsed the skies above the trees, a
nebulous gray was stealing upon the darkness; and the morning star
blazed magnificently, in a space that seemed to