"There comes the boys," he said. "They’ve heard of the shindy." And in another minute four policemen burst into the place. "Cowdery’s gang!" was the brief comment of the commanding officer. "We’ll have them under lock and key before morning." H. Blasius had assumed a most pious expression in a most inconspicuous position behind the bar, but dropped it as the policemen left. "I’ve found my hodman," whispered Parks to me. "Where?" "Here. He isn’t a hodman, but he’s just as good. He’s a drayman with a voice like a fog-horn and a gift of tongue." "And the brains?" "I carry them under my hat," said Parks. "What’s his name?" "Mr. Kearney--Mr. Hampden," said Parks, raising his voice and introducing me gravely. Then, taking the arm of his new-found treasure, Parks walked out of the saloon. *CHAPTER III* *A GLIMPSE OF SUNSHINE* My watch-hands pointed to eight o’clock as I was ushered into Wharton Kendrick’s library. It was a handsome room, with handsome books and handsome solid leather-covered furniture to match the leather-covered volumes that lined its walls, but the effect of dark walls, dark ceilings, and dark bindings was a trifle gloomy. I made up my mind that my library should be a light and cheerful room with white and gold trimmings, and was trying to decide whether it should be in the southwest or southeast corner of my château in Spain, when my architectural studies were interrupted by the opening of a door. I rose in the expectation of meeting my employer; but it was not my employer who entered. Instead of Wharton Kendrick I found myself facing a young woman, who halted, irresolute and surprised, a pace or two from the door. Had it not been for her trailing dress I should at first glance have thought her but a young girl. She was short of stature and slender of figure, and for an instant I had the idea that the long gown and the arrangement of the yellow hair that crowned her head were part of a masquerade. But when I looked in her face I saw that she was a woman grown, and her years might have reached twenty. "Why, I didn’t know you were here," said the startled intruder. Her voice was even-pitched, but it had a curious piquant quality about it. As I hesitated in surprise, she repeated her thought in more positive form: "I didn’t know that any one was here." "I was waiting for Mr. Kendrick. I was told to wait here," I said apologetically. The gas-light fell on her face and I saw that she was pretty. Her head was small, but well shaped. Her color was that of the delicate blonde type, but her large eyes were of a deep brown. "I don’t believe you know me, after all," she said, with a sudden mischievous look. I wanted to lie, but my tongue refused its office. "You’d better not tell any stories," she added. "I’m afraid--" I began. "Oh, if you’re afraid I shall go away. I was going to read a book, but it doesn’t matter."