"We are more than satisfied," I assured him, trying to infuse as much gratitude as I could into my tone. "I am thankful to say that we are able to put by a little every week, too, towards the capital which you advanced. The new costumes, songs and posters are bringing something of their own back." Mr. Thomson waved his hand. "That is a matter of no concern," he pronounced. "Have you anything further to say?" I looked at Leonard and at Rose. We all three looked at our host. "I should like to know," I asked bluntly, "how much of my soul was scotched by to-night's little adventure?" Mr. Thomson stretched out his hand for the evening paper which the waiter has just placed by his side. "I do not wish to encourage curiosity," he remarked coldly. "Our bargain renders any explanation on my part unnecessary. You had better read aloud that item in the stop press news, however. It may allay your qualms, if you are foolish enough to have any." The sheet was wet from the press. I held it under the light and read:-- ARREST OF MOUNTJOY, THE CASTLE DERMOY MURDERER! Denis Mountjoy was arrested to-night at a music hall in Watergate Street. A determined attempt was made at a rescue, and a free fight took place outside the Watergate Street police station, all the windows of which were broken. With the arrest of Mountjoy, who will be charged with no less than five murders, it is hoped that the whole conspiracy of which he was the head will be broken up. It is known that he has in his possession the famous minute book of the revolutionary secret society which bore his name, and numerous other arrests may be expected at any moment. The chief constable has received a telephone message of congratulation from Scotland Yard. * * * * * I laid down the paper. For the life of me I could not keep back the question which rose to my lips. "There was five hundred pounds reward for the arrest of Mountjoy. Are you claiming it?" "Blood money," Mr. Thomson confessed, with a queer smile, "is not in my line." "It was you who put the police on to Mountjoy?" I persisted. He made no direct reply. He was stonily thoughtful for a moment. "I knew," he continued presently, "I believe even the police knew, that Mountjoy was lying hidden somewhere within a quarter of a mile of Watergate Street. How to draw him out of his hiding place was the problem. I remembered his two failings,--vanity, and love of hearing that beautiful voice of his. I pandered to them." "You laid a trap on behalf of the police, then?" Mr. Thomson knocked the ash from his cigar. "That might be considered the truth," he admitted. "And the minute book?" "Concerning the minute book," he replied, "I have nothing to say."