How was he going to avert the catastrophe of an elopement and at the same time save himself and that charming young girl from a shrieking scandal? There didn't seem any coherent solution. If Whitney Barnes had only remained with him--at least to lend him moral courage! Where had the confounded ass gone? Why didn't he return? A fine friend in need was he! There was no time to unravel his perplexities and lay any definite plan. He must act, taking his cue as it was presented to him by the racing events of the moment. He got up from the divan and rushed downstairs. He cleared the last landing, with a momentum that slid him across the polished floor of the hallway after the manner of small boys who slide on ice. He fairly coasted into the room, but his precipitate intrusion did not in the least disturb his visitor. During Gladwin's brief absence that supernaturally composed individual had cut the Rembrandt from the frame and laid it on one of the sheets of wrapping paper he had spread out on the chest. He had also cut out a Manet, a Corot and a Vegas--all small canvases--and hung them over the back of a chair. As the owner of these masterpieces skidded into the room the thief was taking down a Meissonier, frame and all, fondling it tenderly and feasting his eyes on the superb wealth of detail and the rich crimson and scarlet pigments in the tiny oblong within the heavy gilt mounting. "Ah, Officer, you are back," he said easily, as Gladwin staggered against a table and gripped it for support. The methodical despoiler did not so much as turn his head as he placed the Meissonier on the chest and deftly cut out the canvas. His back was still squared to the flabbergasted young man as he continued: "Come, get busy, Officer, if you are going to help me. Take down that picture over there on the right." He pointed, and went on wrapping up the immensely valuable plunder. Gladwin got up on a chair and reached for one of the least noteworthy of his collection. "No, no--not that one," said the thief, sharply,--"the one above," an old Dutch painting that had cost a round $10,000. The young man took it down gingerly, biting his lips and cursing inwardly. "That's it," he was rewarded, "bring it here." Gladwin managed to cross the room with an appearance of stolid indifference and as he handed the picture to the "collector" he said haltingly: "I take it these pictures is worth a lot of money, sorr." "You're right, I take it," said the other with a laugh, beginning at once to slash out the canvas. "Yes, sorr, I mean, _you take it_!" said Gladwin viciously. The wrathful emphasis missed its mark. The "collector" was humming to himself and working with masterful deftness. "Now that woman's head to the left," he commanded as soon as he had disposed of the Dutch masterpiece. "And be quick about it. You move as if you were in a trance."