self, O'Keefe," suggested the
taller of the coppers. "You've been on this beat so long."

In a minute or two O'Keefe came slipping back hurriedly. He drew his
companion aside.

"Tell you what, Tim," I heard him say, "do you know, I'm after thinking
it looks like old Braxton, known in the perfesh as 'Foxy Grandpa.' He's
a swell con man, but has just finished a stretch at Copper John's for
going through a flat in the Bronx. He's done murder once."

The other turned to me.

"May save a muss in your rooms if you'll just kinder call him out, sir,"
he suggested. "It will be simpler." He grinned significantly and glanced
at his night stick.

"By Jove!" I ejaculated, looking at Jenkins. "By Jove, you know!"

Jenkins coughed. "Just say you want to speak to him a minute, sir," he
said. "They'll do the rest--h'm!"

They all followed me into the hall, and I stepped to the doorway. And
then I almost pitched forward, I was so devilish startled.

For, as a crowning example of his daring and reckless conduct, the hoary
old reprobate was emerging from Billings' room, his fingers overhauling
the contents of my friend's wallet, even as he waddled along, and so
absorbed that he never even saw me.

"Ah!" he breathed in a heavy sigh of satisfaction; and out came his
fingers, and in them, poised aloft, he held the ruby I had given to
Billings. His bleary eyes gloated at it.

"Mine!" he whispered. "Mine now to keep forever!"

CHAPTER XI

IRON NERVE

I just stood in the doorway, staring. Couldn't say a word, my throat was
that paralyzed. First time, you know, I'd ever seen a real burglar or
jolly hold-up man, and he looked so different from what I had expected.

But I knew now, of course, that the policeman was right and that the
respectable-looking old gentleman was no other than the desperate
criminal described as "Foxy Grandpa." But for the intervention of
outside assistance doubtless Billings and I might have had our throats
cut by the conscienceless old geezer.

He was so absorbed that he did not see me, nor the two helmets piking
above my shoulder.

"Up to his old tricks," O'Keefe whispered. "We've got him in the act,
Tim!"

"Great!" breathed Tim. "What won't the captain say!"

O'Keefe's breath tickled my ear again and swept my nose. I've never seen
beer or sauerkraut since but what I think of it!

"Got your stick ready?" he was saying. "Best not take any chances;
Braxton's a quick shooter, they say. When