“No!” roared Kling again, his Dutch blood at boiling-point. “I put you on noddin--dot's your bis'ness, dis puttin' on, not mine.” He had walked out of the office and was beckoning to the tramp. “Here, you! You go down-stairs and tell Hans to come up k'vick--right avay.” The tramp slouched up--a sliding movement, led by his shoulder, his feet following. “Maybe, boss, I kin help if you don't mind my crowdin' in.” He had listened to the whole conversation and knew exactly what would happen if he carried out Kling's order. He had seen too many mix-ups in his time--most of them through resisting an officer in the discharge of his duty. Kling, the first thing he knew, would be wearing a pair of handcuffs, and he himself might lose his job. He addressed the detective: “I saw the guy when he come in and I saw him when he went out. Mr. O'Day saw him, too, but he'd skipped afore he got on to his mug. He'll tell ye same as me.” The detective canted his head, looked the tramp over from his shoes to his unkempt head, and turned suddenly to Kling. “Who's Mr. O'Day?” he snapped. “He's my clerk,” growled Otto, his determination to get rid of the man checked by this new turn in the situation. “Can I see him?” “No, you can't see him, because he's gone out vid Kitty Cleary. He'll be back maybe in an hour--maybe he don't come back at all. He don't know noddin about dis bis'ness and nobody don't let him know noddin about it until to-morrow. Den my little Beesving know de first. Half de fun is in de surprise.” The detective at once lost interest in Kling, and turned to the tramp again--the two moving out of Otto's hearing. A new and fresh scent had crossed the trail--one it might be wise to follow. “You work here?” he asked. He had taken his measure in a glance and was ready to use him. “No, I work in John Cleary's express office,” grunted the tramp. “Mr. O'Day wanted me to come over and help for New Year's.” “What's he got to do with you?” “He got me my job.” “He's an Englishman, ain't he?” “Yes, and the best ever.” “Oh, yes, of course,” sneered the detective. “Been working here a year and knows the ropes. So you saw the man come in and O'Day, the clerk, saw him go out, did he? And O'Day sent for you to stay around in case any questions were asked? Is that it?” The tramp's lip was lifted, showing his teeth. “No, that ain't it by a damned sight! I know who pinched the goods--knowed him for months. Know his name, just as well as I know yours. I got on to you soon as you come in.” The detective shot a quick glance at the speaker. “Me?” he returned quietly. “Yes--YOU. Your name is Pickert--ONE of your names--you've got half a dozen. And the guy's name is Stanton. He hangs out at the Bowdoin House, and when he ain't there he's playin' pool at Steve Lipton's where I used to work. Are you on?”