Of course an apology so deftly put brought out the usual response and the query as to what the detective wanted his friend to do. “If you’ll meet me at the Stevens House on lower Broadway and fix me up again, why--” “At what hour?” asked his friend. “Nine-thirty,” said Davidson, “if you can get down so early.” “I’ll be there promptly,” said the obliging depositor. “Thanks; and then,” explained Davidson, “we’ll get the securities, and that’ll end it. I’ve asked a lot of you, my boy, and I’m sorry--hope I’ll be able to reciprocate sometime.” He didn’t turn a hair at uttering this last falsehood--the crowning one of many. The next morning, not long after nine o’clock, Davidson and I were at the hotel, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our dupe. We’d reached the critical stage of our plans. The combination numbers were to be gotten. I was sure of it. Laughingly, a few days prior, I’d staked my reputation as a burglar against the temperance pledge of “Silly Billy,” a ne’er-do-well known to the headquarters police. This lad’s pledge was worthless. He would go before a priest at noonday and solemnly promise never to tipple again, and within the hour he’d be tipsy. When called upon to explain why he’d broken his solemn word, the silly fellow would put up the novel plea that he’d left his pledge at home in his other trousers’ pocket. I had staked my reputation thus that I’d get the St. Nicholas Bank combination numbers, if I were put within ten feet of the vault at the unlocking. This morning Davidson, through his friend, was to put me there. We hadn’t long to wait, for the latter came in smilingly, and evidently delighted to befriend Davidson at any cost. It being the first time I’d set eyes on the fellow, he came in for a close inspection. I satisfied myself that he was rather soft, as is said of some men when they appear a trifle womanish. “Shake hands with Agent McCantry,” said Davidson, in accord with our plan. Being thus formally introduced, we shook hands. My new acquaintance seemed to be wondering what sort of an agent I was, and Davidson enlightened him. “He’s a Secret Service detective--a United States official,” he whispered, first looking around mysteriously, as though careful that no one should hear him. Then he added, “Don’t say anything about it--it mustn’t be known he’s in the city--we had to call him in our case.”