Bob had slipped behind the owner of the graphophone and was rapidly surveying his desk. Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, and, snatching it up, ran across the room. "I thought so! He's been writing." "Here you, Bob, give that back!" cried Dockbridge, springing up. He was blocked by the chief of staff. "Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The censor demands the right of inspection." "Oh, I don't mind if _you_ see it!" said Dockbridge, "only I don't intend that cub to snicker over it. It's nothing, anyway." "'The Maximilian Diamond!'" shouted the thief. "By George, what a rippin' title! Full of gore, I bet!" "You give that back!" growled its owner. "Gentlemen, allow me to present the well-known author and brilliant young literary man, Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four colors is soon to appear on the cover of the 'Maiden's Gaslog Companion,'" continued Bob. "I read, 'The villain stood with his dagger elevated for an instant above the bare breast of his palpitating victim.' My, but it's great!" "You see you'd better read it to us in self-defence," remarked the chief of staff. "Go ahead!" "Promise, and I'll give it back," said Bob, from the door. "Refuse, and I send it to the 'American.'" "It wasn't for publication, anyway," explained Dockbridge. "Of course not," answered Bob. "We'll pass on it. Perhaps we'll send it in for that Five-Thousand-Dollar competition." "Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" Dockbridge recovered the manuscript and returned to his armchair. The others disposed themselves upon the lounge. "Oyez! Oyez!" cried Bob. "All persons desiring to hear the great American novel, draw near, give your attention and ye shall be heard." "Keep still!" ordered the chief of staff. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll make him shut up." "Mind you do," said Dockbridge. "It's about that big diamond, you know. The story begins in this room." "Well, begin it," laughed Bob. His companions pulled his head down on the chief's lap and smothered him with a handkerchief. "Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, "here goes." THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish hair, sandy complexion, and watery blue eyes, stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a keeper. My two visitors conducted themselves with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single motion sank into the chairs I offered. "Well, what's the trouble?" I inquired genially. The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of the other, who grinned apologetically and hitched in my direction. Bending toward me, he whispered: "I am the victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies in history. My story involves personages of the highest rank, and is stranger than one of Dumas' romances. I am a bill-poster." Not knowing whether he intended to include himself among the illustrious persons alluded to, I nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars.