Pep hurried on his mission and returned with the officers sent for. He advised Frank and Randy that “something was up” and made sure that the latter got started for the rear with his cash box. Then Pep closed and locked the front doors securely. He stood there on guard until the two policemen and the officer from the city came out with their prisoners. They had handcuffed them together and the captives looked sullen but subdued. “I won’t forget you,” spoke the officer from the city as Pep let the little group get out into the street. “Oh, that’s all right,” replied Vincent. “We’re glad to have got through with the fellows without any row or publicity.” “What have those men been doing, Mr. Vincent?” inquired Pep as the doors were again secured and they went back into the living rooms. “Some big burglary in New York, the officer said,” explained the ventriloquist. “It seems he has been on their trail for a week. Located them at the Midway and traced them here to-night.” “Get your broom, Randy,” ordered Pep, consulting his watch. “What for?” “We’ve got just forty-eight minutes before twelve o’clock. We want to sweep out by then. To-morrow’s Sunday, when we won’t do it, and the next day is Monday when we can’t do it with the hustle and bustle of a double programme and two matinees. Besides, it’s a satisfaction to see it all neat and in order over to-morrow.” “That’s so,” assented Randy, but he yawned, for it had been an arduous day for all hands. The boys pitched in with ardor, Pep taking one side, Randy the other. There was more sand than dust, for the floor had been cleanly swept only that morning. There was, however, the usual lot of candy and popcorn boxes, torn programmes, and the general litter of the entertainment. “You beat me, Randy,” said Pep, as his companion rounded into the end of the center aisle near the entrance first with his heap of swept-up rubbish. “I’ll get the box and the dust pan,” volunteered Randy, “and we’ll soon have the rubbish out of the way.” While his comrade was gone for the utensils in question Pep began poking about in the accumulated heap swept up. He always did this before the heap was placed in the rubbish box and dumped out of a side window into a coal box standing beneath it. Very often they found little articles of value—once a pair of ladies’ gloves, a baby’s hat twice, rings, and after nearly every performance pennies, nickels, and once a dollar bill. A list of these articles of any value was made and placarded on a neat card labelled “Owner Apply,” tacked up on the ticket seller’s booth outside. “A plugged nickel and two suspender buttons,” laughed Pep as a result of his explorations as Randy reappeared. “I kicked something!” announced Randy, and sure enough something that rattled skidded across the floor from the edge of the dust heap. “Why,” replied Pep, picking up the article in question, “it’s a chamois bag.” “Something in it?” questioned Randy.