Or is the Tracer
foiled, ha! ha!"

Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully
shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver.

"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it--just an
ordinary case."

"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and
Fifth, I believe."

"Yes," replied Gatewood.

"And the family are out of town?"

"Yes."

"Is there a caretaker there?"

"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the
key to the Burglar Alarm Company."

"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while."

For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver
against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he
believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure.
He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely
married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set
him in action in behalf of his friend--that and a certain indefinable
desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful
retaliation upon the prime mover and _collaborateur_, if not the sole
author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy.

"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!"
muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go
tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check
to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no
wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he
assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as
happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just
as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his
movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or
not--there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness,
and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!"

Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to
violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very
agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded
again in the receiver.

"Mr. Gatewood?"

"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen."

"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?"

"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis.

"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance
for hi