Nodding her head contentedly, Zizi waited until her quarry again made an appearance. Then as the man went over and took a North-bound Bus, Zizi found a taxicab and gave the order to fly back to Penny Wise. It was after fifteen or twenty minutes of the excited girl’s conversation and explanations that Wise was in possession of all the facts. “Can we get him?” he asked, and then the telephone rang. “Hello,” said Wise, and received this astonishing response. “Manning Pollard speaking. You have been too many for me, Mr Wise. I give myself up. I don’t know how you discovered so much, but I see there’s no use in further effort to hide my crime. I confess, and you may come and take me. I am in my rooms at the hotel.” “You are a bit astonishing, Mr Pollard,” Wise said. “But I accept your invitation and I will go at once to you. Will you stay there till I come.” “Certainly. When I perceive the game is up, what else is there for me to do? Moreover, would I call you up and surrender, if I were not sincere about it?” “I can’t see why you should. At your hotel, then? All right.” “Heavens, Zizi, what a man! I’ll start right off. You call Prescott, and tell him just what Pollard said, and tell him to go to the hotel with two policemen—or enough to take the prisoner.” Wise went and Zizi did as he had bade her. “What?” Prescott cried, over the wire, “you don’t say so! Well, wonders will never cease! I don’t altogether believe in it, but I’ll hurry to the hotel.” Then Zizi herself hurried to the hotel, more excited than ever. She calmed herself a little on the way, for she knew she must be cool and collected to take her part in the scene. She reached the hotel a moment or two before Prescott got there. But he came, as she waited, and, seeing her, exclaimed, “Are you sure? Where’s Mr Wise?” “He isn’t here,” she said, a little unnecessarily. “I’ll go up with you.” “Come if you like,” said Prescott, carelessly, and with his two husky companions he entered the elevator. At Pollard’s door the group paused, and Prescott knocked. “Come in,” they heard, and went in. The man sitting in an easy chair sprang up. “What the devil!” he cried. “Easy now, Mr Pollard,” Prescott said, “you told us to come and get you, and we’re here.” “Told you—come and get me—— Get out, I say!” Prescott stared. Was this Manning Pollard? Talking so unlike himself! Clearly, it was not! “Who are you?” Prescott said, curiously; and then, illogically, “Mr Pollard, who are you?” “I’m not Manning Pollard. If you’ve come to arrest him, you’ve got the wrong man.” But though blustering, the speaker was white with fear. Overcome with surprise and terror, he fell back into his chair and began to swear fluently. “None of that, now,” said Prescott, dumfounded, but vigilant. “If you’re not Manning Pollard you’re his twin brother! Is that it?” “No—oh, no.” “Well, then, who are you?” “I’m—oh, hang it all—I’m Horace Taylor.”