"I wouldn't," says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny."

But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. We
lands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first move
after gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up Whitey
Weeks.

"This is Torchy," says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?"

"Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?"

"He's been found," says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some fool
friends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway."

"The simp!" groans Whitey.

"You're a great little describer, Whitey," says I. "Simp is right. But
next time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'd
advise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located."

CHAPTER XVII

WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN

It was Mr. Piddie who first begun workin' up suspicions about Vincent,
our fair haired super-office boy. But then, Piddie has that kind of a
mind. He must have been born on the dark of the moon when the wind was
east in the year of the big eclipse. Something like that. Anyway, he's
long on gloom and short on faith in human nature, and he goes
gum-shoein' through life lookin' as slit-eyed as a tourist tom-cat four
blocks from his own backyard.

Course, he has his good points, lots of 'em, or else he never would have
held his job as office manager in the Corrugated Trust so long. And
there's at least two human beings he thinks was made perfect from the
start--Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert. The rest of us he ain't sure
of. We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is to
be right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabs
his trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey,
leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways.

Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent.

"I regret to say it, Torchy," says he, "but someone ought to have an eye
on that boy."

"Oh, come, Piddie!" says I. "Not Vincent! Why, he's a model youth.
You've always said so yourself--polite, respectful, washes behind the
ears, takes home his pay envelope uncracked to mother, all that sort of
thing. Why the mournful headshake over him now?"

"I can't say what it is," says Piddie, "but there has been a change.
Recently. Twice this week he has overstayed his luncheon hour. Yesterday
he asked for his Liberty bond and war saving stamps from the safe. I
believe h