s
and silk dust coat, and wants to know if I'm Shorty McCabe: which I
says I am.

"Then you have my boy here, have you?" she shoots out. And, say, by
the suspicious way she looks at me, you'd thought I'd been breakin'
into some nursery. I'll admit she was a beaut, all right; but the hard
look I gets from them big black eyes didn't win me for a cent.

"Maybe if I knew who you was, ma'am," says I, "we'd get along faster."

That don't soothe her a bit. She gives me one glare, and then whirls
around and shouts to a couple of tough lookin' bruisers that was in the
car.

"Quick!" she sings out. "Watch the rear and side doors. I'm sure he's
here."

And the mugs pile out and proceed to plant themselves around the house.

"Sa-a-ay," says I, "this begins to look excitin'. Is it a raid, or
what? Who are the husky boys?"

"Those men are in my employ," says she.

"Private sleut's?" says I.

"They are," says she, "and if you'll give up the boy without any
trouble I will pay you just twice as much as you're getting to hide
him. I'm going to have him, anyway."

"Well, well!" says I.

And say, maybe you can guess by that time I was feelin' like it was a
warm day. If I'd had on a celluloid collar, it'd blown up. Inside of
ten seconds, I've shucked my coat and am mixin' it with the plug that's
guardin' the side door. The doin's was short and sweet. He's no
sooner slumped down to feel what's happened to his jaw than No. 2 come
up. He acts like he was ambitious to do damage, but the third punch
leaves him on the grass. Then I takes each of 'em by the ear, leads
'em out to the road, and gives 'em a little leather farewell to help
'em get under way.

"Sorry to muss your hired help, ma'am," says I, comin' back to the
front stoop; "but this is one place in the country where private
detectives ain't wanted. And another thing, let's not have any more
talk about me bein' paid. If there's anyone here belongin' to you, you
can have him and welcome; but cut out the hold up business and the
graft conversation. Now again, what's the name?"

She was so mad she was white around the lips; but she's one of the kind
that knows when she's up against it, too. "I am Mrs. Rutgers Greene,"
says she.

"Oh, yes," says I. "From down on the point?"

"Mr. Greene lives at Orienta Point, I believe," says she.

Now that was plain enough, wa'n't it? You wouldn't think I'd need
postin' on what they was sayin' at the clubs, after t