stopped at the flash of the badge under the coat of the
plainclothes man.

"What's eatin' you?" demanded the megaphonist, abandoning his
professional discourse for pure English.

"Keep her at anchor for a minute," ordered the officer. "There's a man
on board we want--a Philadelphia burglar called 'Pinky' McGuire. There
he is on the back seat. Look out for the side, Donovan."

Donovan went to the hind wheel and looked up at James Williams.

"Come down, old sport," he said, pleasantly. "We've got you. Back to
Sleepytown for yours. It ain't a bad idea, hidin' on a Rubberneck,
though. I'll remember that."

Softly through the megaphone came the advice of the conductor:

"Better step off, sir, and explain. The car must proceed on its tour."

James Williams belonged among the level heads. With necessary slowness
he picked his way through the passengers down to the steps at the front
of the car. His wife followed, but she first turned her eyes and saw the
escaped tourist glide from behind the furniture van and slip behind a
tree on the edge of the little park, not fifty feet away.

Descended to the ground, James Williams faced his captors with a smile.
He was thinking what a good story he would have to tell in Cloverdale
about having been mistaken for a burglar. The Rubberneck coach lingered,
out of respect for its patrons. What could be a more interesting sight
than this?

"My name is James Williams, of Cloverdale, Missouri," he said kindly, so
that they would not be too greatly mortified. "I have letters here that
will show--"

"You'll come with us, please," announced the plainclothes man. "'Pinky'
McGuire's description fits you like flannel washed in hot suds. A
detective saw you on the Rubberneck up at Central Park and 'phoned down
to take you in. Do your explaining at the station-house."

James Williams's wife--his bride of two weeks--looked him in the face
with a strange, soft radiance in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks,
looked him in the face and said:

"Go with 'em quietly, 'Pinky,' and maybe it'll be in your favour."

And then as the Glaring-at-Gotham car rolled away she turned and threw
a kiss--his wife threw a kiss--at some one high up on the seats of the
Rubberneck.

"Your girl gives you good advice, McGuire," said Donovan. "Come on,
now."

And then madness descended upon and occupied James Williams. He pushed
his hat far upon the back of his head.

"My wife seems to think I am a burglar," he