“Two million smackers it’s going to get him,” retorted Dolly. “Two million smackers nothing! The stuff’s hidden in a place where he’d never think of looking in two million years.” “You can’t bluff me, Chimp Twist,” said Dolly, gazing at him with the cold disdain of a princess confronted with a boll weevil. “If he keeps on looking, it stands to reason----” She broke off. The door had opened and a man was entering. He was a fine, handsome, open-faced man of early middle age. At the sight of this person Chimp Twist’s eyes narrowed militantly, but Dolly flung herself into his arms with a remorseful cry. “Oh, Soapy, darling! How I misjudged you!” The new-comer had had the air of a man weighed down with the maximum amount of sorrow which a human being can bear. This demonstration, however, seemed to remove something of the burden. “’S all right, sweetness,” he said, clasping her to his swelling bosom. “Was I mean to my angel-face?” “There, there, honey lamb!” Chimp Twist looked sourly upon this nauseating scene of marital reconciliation. “Ah, cut it out!” he growled. “Chimp’s told me everything, baby doll,” proceeded Mrs. Molloy. “I know all about that money, and you just keep right along, precious, hunting for it by yourself. I don’t mind how often you stay out nights or how late you stay out.” It was a generous dispensation, for which many husbands would have been grateful, but Soapy Molloy merely smiled a twisted, tortured smile of ineffable sadness. He looked like an unsuccessful candidate hearing the result of a presidential election. “It’s all off, honey bunch,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s cold, petty. We’ll have to let Chimp in on it after all, sweetie-pie. I came here to put my cards on the table and have a show-down.” A quivering silence fell upon the room. Mrs. Molloy was staring at her husband, aghast. As for Chimp, he was completely bewildered. The theory that his old comrade had had a change of heart--that his conscience, putting in some rapid work after getting off to a bad start, had caused him to regret his intention of double-crossing a friend, was too bizarre to be tenable. Soapy Molloy was not the sort of man to have changes of heart. Chimp, in his studies of the motion-picture drama, had once seen a film where a tough egg had been converted by hearing a church organ, but he knew Mr. Molloy well enough to be aware that all the organs in all the churches in London might play in his ear simultaneously without causing him to do anything more than grumble at the noise. “The house has been taken,” said Soapy despondently. “Taken? What do you mean?” “Rented.” “Rented? When?” “I heard this morning. I was in a saloon down Fleet Street way, and two fellows come in and one of them was telling the other how he’d just rented this joint.” Chimp Twist uttered a discordant laugh.