Neilson was working on the police cuts when they entered the room. He looked up suspiciously at his visitors. Carroll had warned him to be strictly on his guard while the snapshots were in his possession. “Here’s a gent who wants to do some business with you. Mr. Neilson,” Miggsy announced. And then, greatly to Meyer’s relief, the boy went downstairs, leaving him alone with the photo-engraver. The visitor lost no time in getting down to business. There was no telling when the boy or somebody else might come into the room, and Mr. Meyer was exceedingly averse to saying what he had to say to Neilson in the presence of a third party. At no time in his life had he felt more inclined to indorse the old saying that “two is company, three is a crowd,” than at this minute. “I want some cuts made,” he began. “I am getting out a leedle advertising circular for my wine and liquor business. Here iss one of the pictures which I wish made into a cut.” He drew a small oblong of saffron-hued paper from his pocket, and held it before Neilson’s eyes. “Why, that ban a fifty-dollar bill,” exclaimed Neilson in astonishment. Mr. Meyer took from his pocket another slip of paper. “And here, mein friend, is another leedle picture which I wish made into a cut,” he announced. The engraver’s eyes opened wider. “That ban a hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed. “Nefer mind what they are, mein friend,” said Meyer. “I want them both made into cuts for mein leedle advertising circular. You can do it--yes?” “Sure,” Neilson replied. “Why not? When must the cuts be ready?” “Oh, there’s no hurry. Keep these leedle pictures for as long as you like.” Mr. Meyer put his head closer to the engraver’s, and lowered his voice. “In fact, mein friend, you can keep them forever--if you will do me a leedle favor.” Neilson’s eyes glistened hungrily. “What’s the favor?” he demanded eagerly. “I ban willing to do whole lot of favors for a hundred and fifty dollars.” In a tense whisper, Mr. Meyer explained how the money was to be earned. The _Bulletin’s_ photo-engraver did not appear to be horrified or indignant. “Oil right,” he said phlegmatically; “I do it. I ban sick of this here yob, anyway. Give me the hundred and fifty dollars. It ban look good to me.” He held out his hand, and, as the yellowbacks came in contact with his long, slim fingers, his ears caught a faint, clicking sound, which came from a large canvas screen at the other end of the room. Then there was a chuckle, and a voice cried exultantly: “All right, Ole; we’ve got it!” Mr. Meyer glanced uneasily toward the screen. From behind that piece of furniture stepped two young men. One of them had a camera in his hand. “What’ll I do with this here dirty money, Mr. Carroll?” inquired Neilson, his usually stolid countenance animated by a broad grin.