He had reasoned it out that just the uniform of Officer 666 would serve him almost as a magician's wand. He had almost counted on the thief taking one craven look at his constabulary disguise and then leaping through the window--fleeing like a wolf in the night--he, Travers Gladwin, remaining a veritable hero of romance to sooth and console Helen and gently break the news to her that she had been the dupe of an unscrupulous criminal. Instead of which--he ground his teeth, went to the little panel door and shouted Phelan's name. Mrs. Phelan's son came a-running. He had been on his way. The vast girthed individual in the pink striped pajamas and tasselled nightcap had accomplished his awful purpose, but the climax had been anti-climax and Phelan had ground his teeth in rage. He had been on the point of bursting through the window and somehow scrambling aloft to the rescue of that helpless being who was being ground and wrenched and pounded by that porcine monster, when the monster suddenly rose to view again with a dumb-bell in each hand. The jaw of Officer 666 slowly dropped as he watched the manipulation of the dumb-bells. There was no passion in the stodgy movements of the great paddy arms. Even so far away as he was Phelan could see that the man puffed and blew and that his vigor was slowly waning. Then suddenly the huge man stooped and held up in plain view a dangling wrestling dummy. The lone watcher swallowed a savage oath. "Sure 'twas exercisin' an' not murther he was doin'," Phelan hissed through his teeth. His anger was white hot. Again he had been the victim of delusion and had wasted heroic emotions on a stuffed dummy that served merely as an inanimate instrument in a course of anti-fat calisthenics. Every nerve in Phelan's body was fairly a-bristle as he made his way upstairs and burst into the great drawing-room and picture gallery. "Fer the love o' hivin," he cried, "give me me uniform and let me out o' here." "Here's your uniform; I've had enough of it," replied Gladwin, throwing him the coat and cap, "and get into it quick. There's work for you right in this house." "There is not, nor play neither," snapped Phelan. "I've got to go out and chase up a drunk or throw a faint or git run over or somethin' desperate to square mesilf with the captain. I'm an hour overdue at the station." "You'll square yourself with the captain all right if you just do what I tell you," said Gladwin eagerly, helping him on with his coat and pushing him toward the window recess. "You go right in there behind those curtains and wait till I call you." Phelan took one look at the young man's face and muttered as he obeyed. "This must be a hell of a joke." And just then the thief breezed in again, jerking back on his heels as he caught sight of Gladwin _sans_ uniform, _sans_ moustache and _sans_ eyebrows. But a glance at that young man meant volumes and there was no limit to his spontaneous resources. He summoned a laugh and jerked out: