Mr. Detective Brownson walked over to the trunk, gazed intently at the manikin, and gingerly poked it once or twice in the ribs. He turned red and swallowed at something in his throat. "So you wish to make a charge against these gentlemen?" he asked, with almost a note of appeal in his voice. "Not I," answered Ellison, cheerfully. "It's all between friends, and they can settle the matter with me over a petit souper at Delmonico's. Good-day, officer." How quickly the echoes of the strenuous life die away. After the storm and stress of those dreadful four days one would suppose that peace at any price were the one thing worth while. And for a month or more we were quite content with the humdrum of ordinary existence. And then just because a game of patience would not make-- X The Upset Apple-Cart Indiman was playing solitaire and I was idly looking on. It so happened that an important card, the ace of hearts, was buried, and Indiman had tried every legitimate means to get it out without success. "You can't do that," I said, decidedly, as Indiman was about to make a move. He looked up, caught my eye fixed upon the game, and colored deeply. Then he frowned and swept the cards into a disorganized heap. "I really believe that I was on the point of cheating myself," he said, soberly. "That argues a shameful flabbiness of the moral fibre, doesn't it? A 'brace' game of solitaire! What a hideous picture of degeneracy!" "Lay it on the weather," I suggested. "These gray November days with their depressing atmosphere of finality may be held responsible for anything." "Even my own pet extremity--the upsetting of an apple-cart. Really, I'm getting dangerously close to it. Let's go out for a walk." Now, why did Tito Cecco, dealer in small fruits, choose this precise day and hour to halt his barrow at our corner? Push-carts are not allowed in Madison Avenue, anyway, and five minutes earlier or later he would have been moved on by the policeman on the beat. But in that mean time Esper Indiman and I had left the house. The cart piled high with red and yellow apples confronted us, and a dangerous glint came into Indiman's eye. "Indiman!" I implored. Too late! With the mischievous agility of a boy, Indiman seized the hub of the near wheel and heaved it into the air. A little ripple of apples swept across the asphalt roadway, then a veritable cascade of the fruit. The light push-cart lay bottom up, its wheels revolving feebly. Tito Cecco had become incapable of either speech or motion. Then he caught the glimmer of the gold piece in Indiman's fingers, and grabbed at it eagerly.