Mr. Bitt shook his head. “I had thought of that. It won't do. It won't do, Mr. Howard. For one thing, a rigorous prosecution and sentence might create bad feeling against the paper. You have no idea how curious the public is in that way. For another, you, as the injured party, ought not to comment; and certainly I could not publish your views. The matter would be _sub judice_ directly arrest was made; and I once got into very serious trouble over a _sub judice_ matter--very serious trouble indeed. I shall not touch the law, Mr. Howard. It is unwise. At the same time, I think the thief should be made to suffer--be given a thorough fright. Now, if we inform the public that practically our Special Commissioner has his hand on the cat--which will be perfectly true--and is almost certain as to the identity of the thief--if we keep this up for the few days necessary for the publication of those magnificent articles of yours on 'What my Loss means to Me,' we shall be accomplishing three excellent objects. We shall be terrifying an evil-doer--we may take it for granted he reads the _Daily_; we shall be giving the public those articles which most certainly ought not to be lost to literature; and we shall be widening the sphere of influence of 'Amy Martin.'” Mr. Vivian Howard did not hesitate. “It is impossible to override your arguments, Mr. Bitt. I think we shall be doing _right_.” Mr. Bitt concealed his immense joy. “I am convinced of it, Mr. Howard,” he said. “_Convinced_. The modern editor and the man of letters of your standing have enormous responsibilities.” Impelled by the virtuous public duty they were performing, the two men silently grasped hands. CHAPTER X. A Perfectly Splendid Chapter. Mr. Bitt turned to Bill; indicated the door behind which my poor George was wrestling in prayer. “The only difficulty is with that chap in there. He knows the cat is found! How can we--” “If you will leave that to me, sir,” Bill told him, “I think I can arrange it without difficulty.” “Or danger?” added Mr. Vivian Howard, who, standing for English literature, would not lightly imperil his integrity. “Or the least danger,” Bill affirmed. “He's a kind of friend of mine--did I mention that, sir? I'll fix it up in a minute.” He stepped briskly to George; closed the door behind him. George said faintly: “Say it quick, Bill. Quick.” “You've got it, old man. Got it.” George rose to his feet; stretched his arms aloft; wildly waved them. The tremendous shout for which he opened his mouth was stayed upon his lips by Bill's warning finger. He hurled himself on a couch; rolled in ecstasy. Rapidly Bill outlined the proposals. Then he struck a heavy hand upon George's shoulder. “And I've got it too!” he cried in an exultant whisper. “I've got it too! I've got Margaret!” “Margaret! However--?”