s been the toughest darned case in my whole experience as
an inside man."

He waited for this to move us.

"What have you found out?" asked Solon; "and say, can't you take off
those whiskers, now that we are alone and unobserved? You know they kind
of scramble your voice."

With cautious looks all about him, Billy bared his tender young face to
the night. A weak wind fretted in the cedars back of us, and an owl
hooted. It was not an occasion that he would permit to glide by him too
swiftly.

"Well, first I had to git my skeleton keys made."

"I thought you said his door was never locked," interrupted Solon.

"That might be only a ruse," suggested our hero. "Well, I got my keys
made, and then I begun to search his room. That's always a delicate job.
You got to know just how. First I looked under the aidges of the carpet,
clear around. Nothing rewarded my masterly search. Then I examines the
bed and mattress inch by inch, with the same discouragin' results."
Billy had now drifted fairly into the exciting manner of his favorite
authors.

"Baffled, but not beaten, I nex' turns my attention to the pictures,
examinin' with a trained eye the backs of same, where might be cunningly
concealed the old will--uh--I mean the incriminatin' dockaments that
would bring the craven wretch to bay and land him safely behind the bars
of jestice. But it seemed like I had the cunning of a fiend to contend
with. No objeks of interest was revealed to my swift but thorough
examination. Thence I directed my attentions to the wall-paper, well
knowin' the desperate tricks to which the higher class of criminal will
ofttimes resort to. Once I thought the game was up and all was lost.
That new Swede chambermaid walks right in an' ketches me at my delicate
tasks.

"Always retainin' my calm presence of mind and coolness in emergencies,
quick to think an' as ready to act, with an undaunted bravery I sprang
at the girl's throat and hissed, 'How much will it take to silence your
accursed tongue?' She draws her slight girlish figure up to its full
height--'Ten thousand dollars!' she hissed back at me. 'Ten thousand
devils!' I cried, hoarse with rage--"

Too palpably our hero had been overwhelmed by his passion for fictitious
prose narrative.

"Hold on, Billy!--back up," broke in Solon. "This is business, you
know--this isn't an Old Cap' Collyer tale."

"Well, anyway," resumed Billy, a little abashed, "I silenced the girl. I
threatened to have