When it came to Larkin we had to piece out a good deal. We agreed that he had started in fair and honest, had tried to make good and had failed. At just what point he changed we couldn’t be sure, but Ferguson thought it was after Mrs. Price threatened to end the investigation. Then he realized that his big chance was slipping by, determined to get something out of it, and hit on the kidnaping. It was easy to see how he could worm all the data he wanted out of Mrs. Price. From what she said he’d evidently pumped her at their last meeting in town, finding out just what her plans were, even to the fact that she intended taking the extra cab from the rank round the corner. _I_ thought that one thing might have given him the whole idea. When they stopped at the book bindery he heard Miss Maitland tell Bébita she would be gone a few minutes and knew that was his opportunity. He took the child to the place he had ready for her, made a quick change—not more than the shedding of his coat, cap and goggles—and ran his car into the garage below, which of course he must have rented. Then he lit out for the Fifth Avenue house, a bit late but ready to report in case Miss Maitland didn’t show up before him. Miss Maitland did—he must have seen her go in—but he rang just the same, which showed what a cunning devil he was. He must have been surprised when he didn’t see anything in the papers, but after he’d written the first "Clansmen" letter to Mrs. Price she explained that and it made it smoother sailing for him. Knowing her as well as he did, he planned the letters to scare her into silence, and saw before he was through he had her exactly in the state he wanted. The one place where his plot was weak was that an outsider had to drive the rescue car. But he had to take a chance somewhere, and this was the best place. He’d fixed it so neat that even if the outsider had informed on him, he’d have been wary, and, as Ferguson thought, not shown up at all. He’d done it well; as well, we all agreed, as it could be done. What had beaten him had been no man’s cleverness, just something that neither he, nor you, nor any of us could have foreseen. Ain’t there a proverb about the best laid plans of mice and men slipping up when you least expect it? It was like the hand of something, that reached out sudden and came down hard, laid him dead in the moment when the goal was in sight.