lock, was
removed and pocketed by the detective.

In this room--a small interior apartment, plainly furnished as a
private office--two people were waiting: a stout, smooth little man
with a moustache of foreign extraction, who on better acquaintance
proved to be the manager of the establishment; the other Bayard
Shaynon, stationed with commendable caution on the far side of the
room, the bulk of a broad, flat-topped mahogany desk fencing him off
from the wrathful little captive.

"Well?" this last demanded of the detective the moment they were
private.

"Take it calm', son, take it calm'," counselled the man, his tone not
altogether lacking in good-nature. "There seems to be some question as
to your right to attend that party upstairs; we got to investigate
you, for the sake of the rep. of the house. Get me?"

P. Sybarite drew a long breath. If this were all that Shaynon could
have trumped up to discomfit him--! He looked that one over with the
curling lip of contempt.

"I believe it's no crime to enter where you've not been invited,
provided you don't force door or window to do it," he observed.

"You admit--eh?" the manager broke in excitedly--"you have no card of
invitation, what?"

"I freely admit I have no card of invitation what or whatever."

"Then perhaps you'll explain whatcha doing here," suggested the
detective, not without affability.

"Willingly: I came to find a friend--a lady whose name I don't care to
bring into this discussion--unless Mr. Shaynon has forestalled me."

"Mr. Shaynon has mentioned a lady's name," said the manager with a
significance lost upon P. Sybarite.

"That," he commented acidly, "is much what might have been expected
of"--here he lifted his shoulders with admirable insolence--"Mr.
Shaynon."

"You saw this lady, then?" the detective put in sharply.

"Why--yes," P. Sybarite admitted.

"He not only saw her," Shaynon interpolated with a malicious sneer,
"but I saw him see her--and saw him get away with it."

"Get away with--what?" P. Sybarite asked blankly.

"Mr. Shaynon," drawled the detective, "says he saw you lift a di'mond
brooch off'n Mrs. Addison Strone, while you was in the elevator."

And while P. Sybarite gaped, thunderstruck and breathless with the
rage excited by this groundless accusation, the detective looked to
Shaynon for confirmation.

"I stood behind him in the elevator, coming down, ten minutes or so
ago," the latter stated heavily. "Mrs. Addison