"'Dear Mr. Maitland,'" he read aloud; "'As you will probably surmise, my motive in thus restoring to you a portion of your property is not altogether uninfluenced by personal and selfish considerations. In brief, I wish to discover whether or not you are to be at home to-night. If not, I shall take pleasure in calling; if the contrary, I shall feel that in justice to myself I must forego the pleasure of improving an acquaintance begun under auspices so unfavorable. In either case, permit me to thank you for the use of your wardrobe,--which, quaintly enough, has outlived its usefulness to me: a fat-headed detective named Hickey will tell you why,--and to extend to you expression of my highest consideration. Believe me, I am enviously yours, Daniel Anisty'--Signed," added Hickey mechanically, his face working. "Satisfied, Sleuth?" By way of reply, but ungraciously, the detective stepped forward and unlocked the handcuffs. Maitland stood erect, smiling. "Thank you very much, sleuth. I shan't forget you ... O'Hagan," Tossing the janitor the keys from his desk, "you'll find some--ah--lemon-pop and root-beer in the buffet, this officer and his friends will no doubt join you in a friendly drink downstairs. Cabby, I want a word with you.... Good morning, gentlemen, _Good Morning,_ sleuth." And he showed them the door. "I shall be at your service officer," he called over the janitor's shoulder, "at any time to-morrow morning. If not here, O'Hagan will tell you where to find me. And, O'Hagan!" The Janitor fell back. "Keep them at least an hour," Maitland told him guardedly, "and say nothing." The Irishman pledged his discretion by a silent look. Maitland turned back to the cabby. "You did me a good turn, just now," he began. "Don't mention it, sir; I've carried you hoften before this evenin', and--excuse my sayin' so--I never _'ad_ a fare as tipped 'andsomer. It's a real pleasure, sir, to be of service." "Thank you," returned Maitland, eying him in speculative wise. "I wonder--" The man was a rough, burly Englishman of one of the most intelligent, if not intellectual, kind; the British cabby, as a type, has few superiors for sheer quickness of wit and understanding. This man had been sharpened and tempered by his contact with American conditions. His eyes were shrewd, his face honest if weather-beaten, his attitude respectful. "I've another use for you to-night," Maitland decided, "if you are at liberty and--discreet?" The final word was a question, flung over his shoulder as he turned toward the escritoire. "Yes, sir," said the man thoughtfully. "I allus can drive, sir, even when I'm drinkin' 'ardest and can't see nothink." "Yes? You've been drinking to-night?" Maitland smiled quietly, standing at the small writing-desk and extracting a roll of bills from a concealed drawer. "I'm fair blind, sir."