Angus Crang. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it dissolve. “And, presto!--like the smoke ring--nothing!” The minutes passed, perhaps five of them, and then the door opened again and Larmon reappeared. “I'm ready now,” he announced quietly. “Shall we go?” Crang rose from his chair. “Yes,” he said. He glanced at Larmon, as he tapped the ash from the end of his cigar. Larmon had _not_ forgotten to change his clothes. “I've got a taxi waiting.” “All right,” agreed Larmon briskly--and led the way to the elevator. Out on the street, Crang led the way in turn--to the taxi. Birdie reached out from his seat, and flung the door open. Crang motioned Larmon to enter, and then leaned toward Birdie as though to give the man the necessary address. He spoke in a low, quiet tone: “Keep to the decent streets as long as you can, so that he won't have a chance to get leery until it won't matter whether he does or not. Understand?” Birdie touched his cap. “Yes, sir,” he said. The taxi jerked forward. “It's not very far,” said Crang. He smiled engagingly as he settled back in his seat--and his hand in his coat pocket sought and fondled his revolver. Larmon, apparently immersed in his own thoughts, made no immediate reply. The taxi traversed a dozen blocks, during which time Crang, quite contented to let well enough alone, made no effort at conversation. Larmon chewed at his quill toothpick until, following a savage little click, he removed it in two pieces from his mouth. He had bitten it in half. He tossed the pieces on the floor, and produced a fresh one from his pocket. “My word!” observed Crang dryly. “You've got good teeth.” Larmon turned and looked at him. “Yes, Mr. Anderson, I have!” His voice was level. “And I am going to show them--when I get hold of Bruce.” Crang's expression was instantly one of innocent bewilderment. “Why,” he said, “I thought you----” “Have you ever met the lady?” Larmon asked abruptly. “The--lady?” Crang glanced out of the window. Birdie was making good time, very good time indeed. Another five minutes at the outside and the trick was done. “The woman in the case,” said Larmon. “Oh!” Crang whistled low. “I see! No, I've never met her. I didn't know there was one. I told you he had said nothing to me.” Larmon was frowning heavily; his face was strained and worried. He laughed out suddenly, jerkily. “I suppose I should give him credit for keeping you at least in the dark,” he said shortly; “though it strikes me as more or less of a case of locking the stable door after the horse has gone.” Crang's eyebrows were raised in well-simulated perplexity. “I don't quite get you, Mr. Peters,” he said politely.