Indiman took four fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to the young man. The latter glanced at the notes and stuffed them carelessly into his waistcoat-pocket. Then, turning to Indiman: "Sir," he said, with a profound seriousness, "I am now your property. Ah! Pardon me--" Like a cat he had sprung between Indiman and the crimp. With a dexterous upward fling of his arm the knife in the Italian's hand went spinning into the air. This was something that came within the policeman's accustomed sphere, and he took immediate charge of Mr. Joe Bardi. It was all done in a most methodical manner, and ten minutes later we were free to depart. A "cruiser" cab rattled by and the three of us squeezed in. "To the Utinam Club," ordered Indiman. Seated at a table in the big dining-room of the club, we drank a formal cocktail to our better acquaintance. "But I am afraid that you have made a bad bargain," said the young man to Indiman. "Frankly, now, I doubt if I can be made to pay even three per cent on the investment. That's no better than a government bond and not half so safe." I have already collected one satisfactory dividend," said Indiman, courteously. "That was cleverly done--to force the knife out of his hand and into the air." "It's a part of the Japanese science of defence without weapons," said the youth, blushing ingenuously. "Jiu-jitsu, you know. I took some lessons of a chap in Tokio." "Moreover, there is your story," continued Indiman. "Will you favor me with some particulars regarding yourself and the circumstances leading up to our late meeting? The situation was an unusual one, and the explanation should be interesting." "On the contrary," answered the young man, with a faint smile, "my narrative is of the most commonplace character imaginable, save only for the final chapter. But judge for yourself.