"Fire-escape winder's broke, all right." This was the policeman, returned. "And some one's let down the bottom length of ladder, but there ain't nobody in sight." "No," interjected Hickey, "'nd there wouldn't 've been if you'd been waitin' in the back yard all night." "Certainly not," Maitland agreed blandly; "especially if my burglar had known it. In which case I fancy he would have chosen another route--by the roof, possibly." "Yeh know somethin' about roofs yehself, donchuh?" suggested Hickey. "Well, I guess yeh'll have time to write a book about it while yeh--" He stepped unexpectedly to Maitland's side and bent forward. Something cold and hard closed with a snap around each of the young man's wrists. He started up, face aflame with indignation, forgetful of the girl hidden in the alcove. "What the devil!" he cried hotly, jingling the handcuffs. "Ah, come off," Hickey advised him. "Yeh can't bluff it for ever, you know. Come along and tell the sarge all about it, Daniel Maitland, _Es_-quire, _alias_ Handsome Dan Anisty, gentleman burglar.... Ah, cut that out, young fellow; yeh'll find this ain't no laughin' matter. Yeh're foxy, all right, but yeh've pushed yer run of luck too hard." Hickey paused, perplexed, finding no words wherewith adequately to voice the disgust aroused in him by his prisoner's demeanor, something far from seemly, to his mind. The humor of the situation had just dawned upon Maitland, and the young man was crimson with appreciation. "Go on, go on!" he begged feebly. "Don't let _me_ stop you, Hickey. Don't, please, let me spoil it all.... Your Sherlock Holmes, Hickey, is one of the finest characterizations I have ever witnessed. It is a privilege not to be underestimated to be permitted to play Raffles to you.... But seriously, my dear sleuth!" with an unhappy attempt to wipe his eyes with hampered fists, "don't you think you're wasting your talents?" By this time even the policeman seemed doubtful. He glanced askance at the detective and shuffled uneasily. As for the cabby, who had blustered in at first with intent to demand his due in no uncertain terms, apparently Maitland's bearing, coupled with the inherent contempt and hatred of the nighthawk tribe for the minions of the law, had won his sympathies completely. Lounging against a door-jamb, quite at home, he genially puffed an unspeakable cigarette and nodded approbation of Maitland's every other word. But Hickey--Hickey bristled belligerently. "Fine," he declared acidly; "fine and dandy. I take off my hat to yeh, Dan Anisty. I may be a bad actor, all right, but yeh got me beat at the post." Then turning to the policeman, "I got him right. Look here!" Drawing a folded newspaper from his pocket, he spread it open for the officer's inspection. "Yeh see them pictures? Now, on the level, is it _natural_?"