"Ah, now, whadjer giving us? This ain't no Tiffany & Co. Best butter? Uh! P'r'aps you'd like to take a peck of di'monds home wid jer--the best di'monds, mind, all ready shelled and fried in gold-dust. And just throw in a bunch of them German-silver banglelets for the salad. Yessir; charge 'em to Mr. Astor, Astorville, N. G." The loungers about the stove sniggered audibly, but something in the fellow's voice made me forget his insolence. I looked up and into the eyes of Esper Indiman. I think I did it pretty well--the cool, ignoring stare with which one is accustomed to put a boor out of countenance. "Let me have a light," I went on, quietly, and the pretended grocer's boy was zealous to oblige, scratching the match himself and leaning across the counter to hold the flame to the cigar end. "Coach waiting for you in front of the church," he whispered. "Drive straight home and slowly--to give him a chance." I left the shop without troubling to glance at the loungers about the fire; Indiman would attend to that part of the business. The coach was in waiting at the Baptist Church, and the driver touched his hat when I mentioned my name. I gave him the address, and told him to drive slowly. As we turned into Seventh Avenue I looked back and saw a cab following. An hour later Indiman came in and joined me in the library. "Now, then!" I said, impatiently, after waiting to see him mix a high-ball and light a tremendously black breva. Indiman is a little provoking at times with his infinite deliberation. "Where were we?" he began. "Ah, yes, I had my theory about finding the chap who wrote out that message. It was correct--absolutely so," and Indiman puffed away in dreamy content, staring up at the ceiling. "I know Mason of the main Western Union office quite well, and he was most obliging. Recognized the peculiarity of the telegraphic sending at once; there actually was a fellow who had a habit of interjecting the superfluous S in his despatches. Name of Ewall, and he was the operator in a sub-station near Jefferson Market. "Well, I posted up there and sounded him. He didn't know anything about it at first, so I had to scare him a bit; he weakened then, and told me what I wanted to know. "Of course it wasn't a real message; he had run it off on his machine at the request of a queer-looking gentleman who had given him a couple of dollars for his trouble. According to his description, the man was stout and dark, with one ear--the left--decidedly larger than the other." "Aha! the fellow we saw at the bazaar. But he wasn't in the group about the grocery stove." "Of course not, but he had his capper there." "Go on." "Well, I thanked Mr. Ewall for his information, and left him with a solemn admonition to be more careful in the future about doing business on the side. Then I sat down to consider.