and unscrew the inscrutable."

"Well, that's cute of him," says I. "I'm bettin', though, he never gets
to his man."

"That's the spirit!" says Mr. Robert. "As the French said at Verdun,
'Ils ne passeront pas.' Eh?"

"Meaning 'No Gangway', I expect!" says I.

"That's the idea," says he.

"But say, Mr. Robert, what's he look like, this king of the dotted
line!" says I.

Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I was sitting back to him," says he.
"Besides, to give you his description would be taking rather an unfair
advantage. That would tend to spoil what now stands as quite a neat
sporting proposition. Of course, if you insist--"

"No," says I. "He don't know me and I don't know him. It's fifty-fifty.
Let him come."

I never have asked any odds of book agents, so why begin now? But, you
can bet I didn't lose any time havin' a heart to heart talk with
Vincent.

"Listen, son," says I, "from this on you want to watch this gate like
you was a terrier standin' over a rat hole. It's up to you to see that
no stranger gets through, no matter who he says he is; and that goes for
anybody, from first cousins of the boss to the Angel Gabriel himself.
Also, it includes stray window cleaners, buildin' inspectors and parties
who come to test the burglar alarm system. They might be in disguise. If
their faces ain't as familiar to you as the back of your hand give 'em
the sudden snub and tell 'em 'Boom boom, outside!' In case of doubt keep
'em there until you can send for me. Do you get it?"

Vincent says he does. "I shouldn't care to let in another book agent,"
says he.

"You might just as well resign your portfolio if you do," says I.
"Remember the callin' down, you got from Old Hickory last week."

Vincent shudders. "I'll do my best, sir," says he.

And he's a thorough goin', conscientious youth. Within the next few
hours I had to rescue one of our directors, our first assistant Western
manager, and a personal friend of Mr. Robert's, all of whom Vincent had
parked on the bench in the anteroom and was eyein' cold, and suspicious.
He even holds up the Greek who came luggin' in the fresh towels, and
Tony the spring water boy.

"I feel like old Horatius," says Vincent.

"Never met him," says I, "but whoever he was I'll bet you got him
lookin' like one of the seven sleepers. That's the stuff, though. Keep
it up."

I expect I was some wakeful myself, too. I worked with my eyes ready to
roll over my shoulder and my right ear stret