"Oh, I do not anticipate anything of the kind," I assured him; "still, to make the situation clear, I want you to understand that Mr. Seymour's apartment is right across the hall, and the slightest outcry on my part or any sound of a struggle would instantly summon him to my assistance."

He delayed no longer; but, stepping inside, stood waiting until I had flashed on the light in my little sitting-room. In the fuller illumination he showed no more sign of trepidation than he had on the outside. The nonchalant smile upon his lips was not assumed, nor was the humorous sparkle of admiration in his eyes. Involuntarily I lowered my own glance before that bold tribute of approval.

"You certainly are a cool one," he commented. "Most women would have had a conniption fit under the circumstances. Aren't you afraid?"

There was a swagger and a dash about the fellow, a touch of reckless audacity which was simply irresistible. Against my will, I felt my heart soften toward him.

"Afraid? No," I scoffed, striving to outvie him in the indifference of my pose. "On the contrary, it strikes me that you should be the one to

be quaking in your shoes. How do you know that I am not going to hand you over to the police?"

As I spoke, I motioned him to a seat in my big Morris chair. "You may smoke, if you care to," I added.

Verily, I was going far these last few days. A passage from Isaiah which I had heard in church a Sunday or two before recurred to my mind with a distinctly irreverent application: "Thy princes are rebellious and companions of thieves." I could not help wondering what Mrs. Van Suyden or some of my other associates in the fashionable set would think if they could see me now tête-átête in my little sitting-room with a desperate outlaw; nay even urging him to make himself at home, to smoke, to be completely at his ease.

But I had in all this a very accurate and welldefined purpose. I wanted the scamp to talk ; and a long and varied experience has taught me that a man is never so communicative as when ensconced in a comfortable chair and with a lighted cigar between his lips.

His eye twinkled an appreciation of my sang froid; but he made no comment, merely laying his cap and gloves upon the table, and unbut

toning his coat to take a cigar from an inner pocket.

As he pulled out the cigar, a little slip of paper came with it, and, unnoticed by him, fluttered lightly to the floor. Under pretence of supplying him with an ash-tray, I swept this behind his chair with the tail of my gown, and quickly securing it, tucked it away in my bosom.

I did not then have an opportunity to examine my find; for, although I stepped into my dressing-room a moment to remove my hat and jacket, and give a touch or so to my hair, I left the door open between us as a measure of precaution, and I knew that he could observe my every movement.

When I returned, I took a low rocking-chair opposite him. He was lazily blowing smoke rings at the plaster Cupid perched above my portieres, as unaffectedly at home as though he had been coming there for years.

I waited for him to begin. He regarded me thoughtfully over the glowing tip of his cigar, and then reverted with a smile to my hypothetical question.

"How do I know that you aren't going to turn me over to the police, eh?" he repeated argumentatively. His accent, I may mention here,

was not unrefined, and his language was as a rule well chosen ; but he had a trick of talking out of the corner of his mouth, and there was a peculiar slurring of final syllables which gave an uncultivated turn to his speech. Here, as in his address, he seemed like one who had been bred a gentleman, but who by long association with inferiors had permitted himself to deteriorate. The underlying metal showed but dimly sometimes through the tarnishings upon the surface.

"Well, how do you know that I am not going to hand you over to the police?"

"Why," with an ironical little bow, "partly because your charming hospitality kills off any fear of the sort; but chiefly for the reason that you couldn't if you wanted to. As the kids say, 'I haven't done nothing naughty.'

I gasped at his colossal impudence; then laughed derisively. "You do not then consider the theft of $50,000 worth of rubies as something rendering you subject to arrest, eh?”

"Sure, I do," he admitted promptly "provided it could be shown I took 'em. Say, for instance,” with a twinkle of fun in his eyes, "that I'd had those rubies in my hand-bag, and suddenly got tipped off that the bulls,-beg pardon,

the police, were going to search me? Then, suppose I'd framed it up with myself to sling the stones out of the window, but afterward thought better of it, and poked them instead into somebody else's fur coat which was providentially,—or shall we say, unfortunately?-nipped? Why then," reflectively, "I might be a trifle uneasy. But as my conscience is clear of anything of the kind, I'm not losing very much sleep over the fate of those rubies."

"All the same," I retorted hotly, "it was you that persuaded me to hide them in the coat."

He threw up his eyes in mock apostrophe. "And to think they used to teach me at Sunday school," he murmured, "that it was poor old Adam who welched on that apple proposition! I suppose, Miss Bramblestone," with withering sarcasm, "that if I told you to go jump off of Brooklyn Bridge you couldn't help yourself from doing it? I'll swear," shaking his head regretfully, "I thought you were gamer than that."

Must I confess it? I actually blushed and hung my head before this rascal's disapprobation. Hurriedly I changed the subject.

"Where are the rubies now?" I asked abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders. "How should I