“He hadn’t then. We only run into each other ten days ago. I was walking up the Haymarket and I catch sight of a feller behind me out of the corner of my eye, so I faint on him, see?” “You’re still in that line, eh?” “Well, it’s what I do best, isn’t it?” Chimp nodded. Dora Molloy--Fainting Dolly to her friends--was unquestionably an artist in her particular branch of industry. It was her practice to swoon in the arms of rich-looking strangers in the public streets and pick their pockets as they bent to render her assistance. It takes all sorts to do the world’s work. “Well, then I seen it was Soapy, and so we go to lunch and have a nice chat. I always was strong for that boy, and we were both feeling kind of lonesome over here in London, so we fix it up. And now I’m sim’ly miserable.” “What,” inquired Mr. Twist, “is biting you?” “Well, I’ll tell you. This is what’s happened: Last night this bird Soapy goes out after supper and doesn’t blow in again till four in the morning. Four in the morning, I’ll trouble you, and us only married two days. Well, if he thinks a young bride’s going to stand for that sort of conduct right plumb spang in the middle of what you might call the honeymoon, he’s got a second guess due him.” “What did you do?” asked Mr. Twist sympathetically, but with a touch of that rather unctuous complacency which bachelors display at moments like this. “I did plenty. And he tried to alibi himself by pulling a story. That story the grand jury is now going to investigate and investigate good.... Chimp, did you ever hear of a man named Finglass?” There was that in Mr. Twist’s manner that seemed to suggest that he was a reluctant witness, but he answered after a brief hesitation. “Sure!” “Oh, you did, eh? Well, who was he then?” “He was big,” said Chimp, and there was a note of reverence in his voice. “One of the very biggest, old Finky was.” “How was he big? What did he ever do?” “Well, it was before your time and it happened over here, so I guess you may not have heard of it; but he took a couple of million dollars away from the New Asiatic Bank.” Mrs. Molloy was undeniably impressed. The formidable severity of her manner seemed to waver. “Were you and Soapy mixed up with him?” “Sure! We were the best pals he had.” “Is he alive?” “No; he died in Buenos Aires the other day.” Mrs. Molloy bit her lower lip thoughtfully.