"I confess that I am interested," said Indiman. "The conditions are simply--" "Your personal day and night tenancy of the chambers in the Barowsky Building for a period of not less than three months. I should have explained that the rooms really form a bachelor's suite, all furnished, of course." "There are papers to sign?" "Only the assumption of the office lease, and I'll give you a bill of sale for the furniture." Mr. Chivers laid the documents before Indiman; the latter glanced them over and drew out his fountain-pen. A quick look, one of satisfaction and understanding, passed between Chivers and Dr. Magnus. I caught it and tried to convey a warning to my friend. But he had already affixed his signature to the lease of the offices in the Barowsky bank building. Chivers did the same for the bill of sale. Indiman gathered up the ten one-thousand-dollar bills and stuffed them into his pocket. "Want a receipt?" he asked. "It is not necessary." "Well, at least, we must have a bumper to celebrate the conclusion of the transaction. Waiter." We took a cab in the gray of the dawning hour and drove home. As might have been predicted, my spirits had dropped to the zero-point again. "I don't like it--frankly, I don't, old man. What if it should be a trap?" Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said. "That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be. It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the wherefore." Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned impatiently. "Well, what is it?" he asked "You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?" It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience thus agreeably stimulated. "'Scuse me, guv'nor," he went on, "but here's another little job in the same line of business. I drove a gentleman to your club early in the evening, and he must have left it accidental in the cab. Maybe you know him." It was a plain white envelope bearing the typewritten address: Mr. Orrin Chivers, Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers, Seward Square, New York. The envelope had been opened, but the enclosure still remained in it. "Thank you," said Indiman. "I'll take charge of it." The cabman touched his hat and drove away.