" Peter interrupted placidly, withdrawing the magazine clip
from its slot in the butt and returning the now harmless mechanism.
"Now run along. Fire-escape's outside the far window in the bedroom,
yonder."

"What the deuce! What's the matter with you? Hand over that clip. What
good is this gun without it?"

"For your present purpose, it's better than if loaded," Peter asserted
complacently. "For purposes of intimidation--which is all you want of
it--grand! And it can't go off by accident and make you an
unintentional murderer."

P. Sybarite's jaw dropped and his eyes opened; but after an instant,
he nodded in entire agreement.

"That's a head you have on your shoulders, boy!" said he. "As for
mine, I've a notion that it has never really jelled."

He turned toward the bedroom, but paused.

"Only--why not say what you want? Why these roundabout ways to your
purpose? Have you, by any chance, been educated for the bar?"

"That's the explanation," laughed Peter. "I'm to be admitted to
practise next year. Meanwhile, circumlocution's my specialty."

"It is!" said P. Sybarite with conviction. "Well ... back in five
minutes...."

Of all his weird adventures, this latest pleased him least. It's one
thing to take chances under cover of night when your heart is light,
your pockets heavy, and wine is buzzing wantonly within your head: but
another thing altogether to burglarise your enemy's apartments via the
fire-escape, in broad daylight, and cold-sober. For by now the light
was clear and strong, in the open.

Yet to his relief he found no more than limpid twilight in the cramped
and shadowed well down which zigzagged the fire-escape; while the
opposite wall of the adjoining building ran blind from earth to roof;
giving comfortable assurance that none could spy upon him save from
the Monastery windows.

"One thing more"--Peter Kenny came to the window to advise, as P.
Sybarite scrambled out upon the gridiron platform--"Shaynon's flat
isn't arranged like mine. He's better off than I am, you know--can
afford more elbow-room. I'm not sure, but I _think_ you'll break
in--if at all--by the dining-room window.... So long. Good luck!"

Clasping hands, they exchanged an anxious smile before P. Sybarite
began his cautious descent.

Not that he found it difficult; the Monastery fire-escape was a series
of steep flights of iron steps, instead of the primitive vertical
ladder of round iron rungs in more general use. There was