The organ squeaked and rattled. It was manoeuvring for a position from which to attack the "Danse Macabre." Blizzard indicated by a lift of heavy eyebrows that he was all attention. "You can trust Blake," she said. Blizzard grunted. "Send him to me at six." "Marrow Lane?" He nodded, and turned from her with an air of finality. The house-maid hesitated, drew a long breath, pulled in her head, and closed the window. A loose-jointed man in clerical garb came hurrying down the avenue. He made longer swings with his right arm and longer strides with his right leg than with his left. He had a white, thin face, and a look of worry and anxiety. He was perhaps distressed to think that the world contained many souls to whose salvation he would never be able to attend. Perceiving the legless beggar, he stopped hurrying, sought in his pocket, and found a few pennies. These he dropped into the tin cup. "God bless you, reverend sir," said the beggar in a voice of deep irony. "Don't," said the clergyman. He managed to look the beggar in the eyes. "How many hats have we?" he asked in a quick whisper. "We're on our fourth thousand." The clergyman was visibly upset, "Six thousand to go," he muttered. "I shall be caught." The beggar smiled. "Come to me at six-thirty," he said. The man of God's eyes brightened. "You'll help me again?" "Tst," said the beggar. "Move on. Here's a plain-clothes man." The shepherd moved on as if he had been pricked by an awl; since it was not among the police that he felt called upon to separate the black sheep from the white. The plain-clothes man approached loitering. He might have been a citizen in good standing and with nothing better to do than hobnob with whatever persons interested him upon his idle saunterings. "How many pairs of laces have you sold this morning?" he asked. "Nary a pair, charitable sir," returned the beggar. "Speaking of shoe-laces," said the plain-clothes man, "what is your opinion of head-gear?" "Bullish," said the beggar. "Straw hats will be worn next winter." The eyes of both men sparkled with a curious exhilaration. The plain-clothes man drew a deep and sudden breath, and appeared to shiver. So a soldier may breathe at the command to charge; so a thoroughbred shivers when the barrier is about to fall. "There will be nice pickings," said the beggar; "there will be enough geese to feed ten thousand." The plain-clothes man dropped a penny into the tin cup. "By the way," he asked professionally, "where can I lay hands on Red Monday?" The beggar shook his strong head curtly. "Hands off," he said. "When did _he_ join the church?" "Last night, with tears and confession. A strong man Red, now that he has seen the light." The plain-clothes man laughed and passed on, still loitering.