en gleam came into Miss Silverton's compelling eyes.

"Wait!"

"Eh?"

"Wait! I've got an idea!" The wistful sadness had gone from her manner.
She was bright and alert. "Sit down!"

"Sit down?"

"Sure. Sit down and take the chill off the arm-chair. I've thought of
something."

Archie sat down as directed. At his elbow the bulldog eyed him gravely
from the basket.

"Do they know you in this hotel?"

"Know me? Well, I've been here about a week."

"I mean, do they know who you are? Do they know you're a good citizen?"

"Well, if it comes to that, I suppose they don't. But--"

"Fine!" said Miss Silverton, appreciatively. "Then it's all right. We
can carry on!"

"Carry on!"

"Why, sure! All I want is to get the thing into the papers. It doesn't
matter to me if it turns out later that there was a mistake and that you
weren't a burglar trying for my jewels after all. It makes just as good
a story either way. I can't think why that never struck me before. Here
have I been kicking because you weren't a real burglar, when it doesn't
amount to a hill of beans whether you are or not. All I've got to do
is to rush out and yell and rouse the hotel, and they come in and pinch
you, and I give the story to the papers, and everything's fine!"

Archie leaped from his chair.

"I say! What!"

"What's on your mind?" enquired Miss Silverton, considerately. "Don't
you think it's a nifty scheme?"

"Nifty! My dear old soul! It's frightful!"

"Can't see what's wrong with it," grumbled Miss Silverton. "After I've
had someone get New York on the long-distance 'phone and give the
story to the papers you can explain, and they'll let you out. Surely to
goodness you don't object, as a personal favour to me, to spending an
hour or two in a cell? Why, probably they haven't got a prison at all
out in these parts, and you'll simply be locked in a room. A child of
ten could do it on his head," said Miss Silverton. "A child of six," she
emended.

"But, dash it--I mean--what I mean to say--I'm married!"

"Yes?" said Miss Silverton, with the politeness of faint interest. "I've
been married myself. I wouldn't say it's altogether a bad thing, mind
you, for those that like it, but a little of it goes a long way. My
first husband," she proceeded, reminiscently, "was a travelling man. I
gave him a two-weeks' try-out, and then I told him to go on travelling.
My second husband--now, HE wasn't a gentleman in any sense of the word.
I remember