"Excuse me, Mr. Allston," says I, "but that ain't the order of events. It's like this: First off you tell me where the wad is; then I tell you about Helma." Makes him groan a bit, that does, and he scowls at me stubborn. "They tried all that on at Headquarters," says he. "It's no use." "You'd get off lighter if you told," says I. "I've nothing to tell," he insists. "How about swappin' what you know for two tickets to Australia?" I suggests. "Hah!" says he. "Helma's been talkin'!" "She's a chatty youngster," says I, "and she thinks a heap of her Daddums. I ain't sure, though, whether you come first--or Arabella." If I hadn't been watchin' for it, I might not have noticed, but the quiver that begins in the fingers grippin' the bars runs clear up to the sagged shoulders. His mouth twitches nervous, and then he gets hold of himself. "Oh, yes," says he, forcin' a smile. "Her doll. She--she still has that, has she?" "Uh-huh!" says I, watchin' him keen. "I'm keepin' close track of both." That little touch did the business. He begins pacin' up and down his cell, wringin' his hands. About the fourth lap he stops. "If I only could take her to Australia," says he, "and get her out of--of all this, I would be willing to--to----" "That's enough," says I. "All I want is your O. K. on any terms I can make with Mrs. Murtha." "She's a hard woman," says he. "And she doesn't come by her money straight." "Nor lose it easy," says I. "She wants it back. Might talk business, though, if I could show her how----" "Anything!" says Allston. "Anything to get me out!" "Now you're usin' your bean," says I. "I'm off. Maybe you'll hear from me later." Course I didn't know what could be done, but I 'phones Piddie at the office to tell 'em I won't be in before lunch, and then I boards an uptown subway express. Easy enough findin' Mrs. Connie Murtha too. She's just finished a ten o'clock breakfast. A big, well-built, dashin' sort of party she is, with an enameled complexion and drugged hair. She's brisk and businesslike. "If you've come to beg me to let up on that sneaking English butler," says she, "you needn't waste any more breath. He's going to do time for this job." "But suppose he could be coaxed into tellin' where the loot was?" says I. "He's had the third degree good and strong," says she. "The boys told me so. He won't squeal. Donahue says he ain't right in his head. Anyway, he goes up." "He's leavin' a little girl," I puts in, "without anyone to look after her." "Most crooks do," says she, sniffin'. "But if you could get the wad back?" says I. "All of it?" says she quick. "Every bean," says I. She leans forward, starin' at me hard and eager. "He'll tell, then?" says she. "Said he would," says I, "providin' him and the little girl could be shipped to Australia."