I was goin' to, anyway; for at exactly noon I had a date somewhere else. There was a window openin' off the bondroom that was screened by a pile of cases, and out from that was an iron fire escape runnin' along the whole court side on our floor. I'd picked that window out as bein' a good place to scout from. And I couldn't have been better placed; for I saw just who I was expectin' the minute he heaves in sight. I'd like to have had one glimpse, though, of Old Hickory and the Doc and Piddie while they was watchin' and listenin' and holdin' their breath inside there. But I'm near enough when the time comes, to hear that chorus of gasps that's let loose at twelve-twenty-six exact. "Ha!" says the Doc. "As I told you--a red rose!" "Well, I'll be slam-whizzled!" explodes Old Hickory. "But--but where did it come from?" pants Piddie. "Who--who could have----" And that's just when little Willie, after creepin' cautious along the fire escape, gives his unsuspectin' victim the snappy elbow tackle from behind and shoves him into view. "Here's your desperado!" says I, givin' my man the persuadin' knee in the small of his back. "Ah, scramble in there, Old Top! You ain't goin' to be hurt. In with you now!" "Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!" "Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window and followin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's as harmless as a kitten." "Torchy," calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what is the meaning of this, and who have you there?" "This," says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is the bearer of the fifth bouquet--also the fourth, and the third, and so on. This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain't that right, eh, old sport?" "'Enery Cubbins, Sir," says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin' off his old cap. "And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands Old Hickory, pointin' to the red rose. "Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all," says Cubbins. "And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the same way?" goes on Mr. Ellins. "Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir," says Cubbins; "but if there's henny hoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir." And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak, pipin' voice, or the meek look in them watery old eyes. For Cubbins is more or less of a human wreck, when you come to size him up close,--a thin, bent-shouldered, faded lookin' old party, with wispy, whitish hair, a peaked red nose, and a peculiar, whimsical quirk to his mouth corners. Old Hickory looks him over curious for a minute or so. "Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why the blue-belted blazes did you do it?" All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful. "Well, Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show. Perhaps you'll tell us."