"It's not a problem," said the man at my shoulder, with something disagreeably like a sneer. "Then by all means don't let's make it one," I protested. The man behind me was the first to drop into the empty seat on my left. The other man crossed to the farther side of the table, still watching me closely. Then he felt for the chair and slowly sank into it; but not once did he take his eyes from my face. I was glad that our circle had become a compact one, for the five of us were now ranged sufficiently close about the table to fence off our little white-linen kingdom of dissension from the rest of the room. "That man's armed, remember!" the jewel thief suddenly cried to the stranger on my left. He spoke both warningly and indignantly. His flash of anger, in fact, seemed an uncontrollable one. "Where's your gun?" said the quiet-eyed man at my side. His own hand was in his pocket, I noticed, and there was a certain malignant line of purpose about his mouth which I did not at all like. Yet I was able to laugh a little as I put the magazine revolver down on the table; it had memories which were amusing. The quick motion with which he removed that gun, however, was even more laughable. Yet my returning sense of humor in no way impressed him. "Where'd you get that gun?" he inquired. I nodded my head toward the white-faced man opposite me. "I took it away from your friend there," was my answer. "And what else did you take?" There was something impressive about the man's sheer impersonality. It so kept things down to cases. "This pearl necklace with the ruby clasp," I answered. "Why?" demanded my interlocutor. "Because he stole it," was my prompt retort. The big man was silent for a moment. "From whom?" "From the lady you have the honor of facing," I answered. "Where?" was his next question. I told him. He was again silent for a second or two. "D'you know who this man is?" he said, with a curt head-nod toward his white-faced colleague. "Yes," I answered. "What is he?" "He's a jewel thief." The two men stared at each other. Then the man at my side rubbed his chin between a meditative thumb and forefinger. He was plainly puzzled. He began to take on human attributes, and he promptly became a less interesting and a less impressive figure. He looked at Alice Churchill and at her brother, and then back at me again. Then, having once more absently caressed his chin, he swung about and faced the wondering and silent girl who sat opposite him. "Excuse me, miss, but would you mind answering a question or two?" It was her brother who spoke before she had time to answer. "Wait," he interposed. "Just who are you, anyway?" The man, for answer, lifted the lapel of his coat and exhibited a silver badge. "Well, what does that mean?" demanded the quite unimpressed youth. "That I'm an officer." "What kind--a detective?" "Yes." "For what? For this place?" "No, for the Maiden Lane Protective Association."