“So that’s what’s come of your darned smooth double-crossing act!” he said nastily. “Yes, I guess you better had let Chimp in on it. You want a man with brains now, not a guy that never thought up anything smarter than gypping suckers with a phony oil stock.” Mr. Molloy bowed his head meekly before the blast. His wife was made of sterner stuff. “You talk a lot, don’t you?” she said coldly. “And I can do a lot,” retorted Mr. Twist, fingering his waxed moustache. “So you’d best come clean, Soapy, and have a show-down, like you say. Where is this joint?” “Don’t you dare tell him before he tells you where the stuff is!” cried Mrs. Molloy. “Just as you say,” said Chimp carelessly. He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and covered them with his hand. “There! Now you write down your end of it and Dolly can read them both out.” “Have you really thought up a scheme?” asked Mr. Molloy humbly. “I’ve thought up a dozen.” Mr. Molloy wrote in his turn and Dolly picked up the two papers. “In the cistern!” she read. “And the rest of it?” inquired Mr. Twist pressingly. “Mon Repos, Burberry Road,” said Mr. Molloy. “Ah!” said Chimp. “And if I’d known that a week ago, we’d have been worth a million dollars apiece by now.” “Say, listen,” said Dolly, who was pensive and had begun to eye Mr. Twist in rather an unpleasant manner. “This stuff old Finglass swiped from the bank, what is it?” “American bearer securities, sweetie,” said her husband, rolling the words round his tongue as if they were vintage port. “As good as dollar bills. What’s the dope you’ve thought up, Chimpie?” he asked, deferentially removing a piece of fluff from his ally’s coat sleeve. “Just a minute!” said Dolly sharply. “If that’s so, how can this stuff be in any cistern? It would have melted, being all that time in the water.” “It’s in a waterproof case, of course,” said Chimp. “Oh, it is, is it?” “What’s the matter, petty?” inquired Mr. Molloy. “You’re acting strange.” “Am I? Well, if you want to know, I’m wondering if this guy is putting one over on us. How are we to know he’s telling us the right place?” “Dolly!” said Mr. Twist, deeply pained. “Dolly!” said Mr. Molloy, not so much pained as apprehensive. He had a very modest opinion of his own chances of thinking of any way for coping with the situation which had arisen, and everything, it seemed to him, depended upon being polite to Chimp Twist, who was admittedly a man of infinite resource and sagacity. “If you think that of me----” began Mr. Twist. “We don’t, Chimpie, we don’t,” interrupted Mr. Molloy hastily. “The madam is a little upset. Don’t listen to her. What is this scheme of yours, Chimpie?” Perhaps Mrs. Molloy’s estimate of her husband’s talents as a strategist resembled his own. At any rate, she choked down certain words that had presented themselves to her militant mind and stood eying Chimp inquiringly.