"Don't be a child," shrugged the other. "You closed these doors, and you butted in about the 'Blue Boy' just as that Central Office owl produced his jewelry. Yes, and you stumbled against the chest and knew that I was in it." "But I say," asked Gladwin, abruptly. "How did you come to use my name?" "It wasn't safe to use mine, and when I met Miss----that girl--your name was in my mind--I borrowed it." "That's the thing I can't forgive you for," said Gladwin, regretfully--"to deceive her as you did. That was rotten." "I don't care for your opinion on that," said the picture expert, warmly. "How can a man like you understand a man like me? It can't be done. We're further apart than the poles." "But you must see, Wilson--that's the name, isn't it?" "It will do for the nonce, kind sir." "But you must see that the game is up. If you take my advice you won't even try to escape." "Then I won't take your advice," said Wilson, softly. "But all these policemen know you're a big prize. If they find you and you break for it, they'll shoot--and shoot to kill if necessary." The thief flung round on him and his face was suddenly drawn and serious. "Death, my dear Gladwin, is the very least of my troubles, if it will only come like that." "By Jove! I like you--and I hope you escape!" "I know you do," said Wilson, shaking his head, "but not altogether on my account. You're thinking of her--the girl. You don't want it to be known that she was going to marry me." "To be frank, yes. They're coming now. Quick! Do something!" The thief seized from the floor one of the portières he had torn down to wrap the canvases in, wound it about him and darted behind the curtains that screened the window. As he vanished Gladwin went to the door and heard the voice of his friend, Whitney Barnes, demanding admission. CHAPTER XXXVII. HANDCUFFS AND LOVE. Helen Burton could not have found a cozier place to faint in than that ultra-luxurious den of Travers Gladwin. Every chair and divan in the place invited one to swoon within its folds. The young man had ordered his decorator to provide him with a chamber wherein stiffness and formality would be impossible unless one stood erect. The decorator had spent money with a lavish hand upon Spanish leathers and silken stuffs from the near East and the Orient and he had laid these trappings over the softest of swan's down. Once you sank upon them you could not help a sensation of utter peace and relaxation. That final and irrevocable blasting of her ideal was a shock upon many shocks that the young girl had experienced within the course of a few hours and that she reached the den on her feet was due more to Bateato's strength and agility than to any nervous or physical force within her slender body.