feet, and his eyes narrowed.

"All right, Mr. Osgood," he said. "Don't worry--I won't stay where I'm
not wanted. But my offer was made in good faith, it would have been
advantageous to your firm, and I'm sorry you turned it down. I wanted
to give you a chance, in a way that I admit would have been a good
thing for me, to keep your own office organization intact--for the
impression seems to be gaining ground that the Boston Board will pass a
separation rule, and in that event you will have to give up the
Guardian agency, anyway."

The Bostonian turned back to his desk.

"That is too remote a contingency for me to discuss with you," he
replied, somewhat curtly. "Good-day, sir."

"Good-day, Mr. Osgood," said F. Mills O'Connor. He paused at the
threshold. "I don't believe you've heard the last of this yet," he
remarked, as he closed the door behind him.

It is a common saying with regard to any especially clever criminal:
what a great man he would have made of himself if only he would have
applied all this cleverness to legitimate ends! This is probably
untrue in nine cases out of every ten, and perhaps in even a larger
ratio, for the successful crook is successful only along crooked lines;
his mind will work only in forbidden channels; it needs the spice and
flavor of the illicit to stimulate its brilliancy. Let him address
himself to a legitimate problem, ethical or commercial, and his
efficiency evaporates--or rather it is non-existent.

Although not a criminal, F. Mills O'Connor was, to a limited degree, a
demonstration of this fact. Mr. O'Connor had been competent but never
particularly clever along strictly legitimate lines; it was always and
only along ways just a little devious, a little tricky, a little
sophistical, that his acumen mounted above the ordinary. His greatest
successes with the Guardian had always been gained by methods which had
been kept secret from his chief, for Mr. Wintermuth's keen sense of
business honor would have prevented the fruition of every one.

He was now in the right company. The Salamander took its key from its
leading director, and Mr. Murch's code of ethics briefly consisted of a
belief that it was advisable to "stay inside the law"--unless he were
absolutely certain that transgression would be undiscoverable or
unpenalized. Into this scheme of things Mr. O'Connor fitted like water
in a skin. Hence one need not have been astonished, half an hour
later, had he ove