atrice sat with a broad-shouldered person in the
uniform of a field-marshal; he had a string of medals on his chest, and
he was devouring her beauty with his hungry eyes. Nay, more, he leaned
close to Beatrice and sought to take her hand, and although she shrank
from him in terror, there was a certain fascinated light in her own
lovely black eyes; she clutched her bosom and sought to escape, but----

"Oh, my Lord!" said Johnson Boller, awakening to stare at the dark
ceiling.

Somewhere a window slammed.

He listened for a little and heard nothing more; then, having the room
nearest the elevators, he heard one of them hum up swiftly and heard the
gate clatter open. And then there were voices and some one knocked on
the door of the apartment with a club, as it seemed. Somebody else
protested and pressed the buzzer--and by that time Wilkins had padded
down the hall and was opening the door.

Johnson Boller caught:

"Police officer! Lemme in quick! You've got a burglar in there!"

CHAPTER V

The Wee Sma' Hours

Wilkins, in his official black, was a wonderfully self-contained person;
roused from slumber in pink-rosed silk, his self-control was not so
perfect, for as he struggled out of bed again Johnson Boller caught:

"God bless my soul, officer! What----"

"Hush!" interrupted an unfamiliar, horrified voice. "Come inside quickly
and close that door."

Anthony was in motion, too. Johnson Boller, stumbling out of his
Circassian apartment, met him just entering the living-room from his own
chamber, and for an instant they stared at one another as they knotted
bathrobe cords about them.

"You see?" Johnson Boller said, with acid triumph. "I was right, eh?"

"What?"

"The cops have tracked the little devil down for his last job, whatever
that may have been, and they've found him _here_! Now you've got a nice
scandal on your hands, haven't you? A tenth-rate kid crook found hiding
in the flat of Mr. Anthony Fry, with the full knowledge and consent
of----"

"Upon my word, Johnson, I think you've lost your senses to-night!"
Anthony snapped. "Whatever is wrong, Wilkins?"

The silk-pajamaed one indicated their visitors with a hand that was none
too steady.

"It's Mr. Dodbury, the night manager, sir, and this policeman that
says----"

"I'm afraid you have a burglar in here, Mr. Fry," the manager put in
agitatedly. "I can't understand how it occurred; nothing of the kind has
ever happened to us before, a