Obediently Monty took a seat and watched the man he had mistaken for a detective from the corner of his eye. Denby chatted confidentially with him for fully five minutes and then, it seemed to the watcher, passed a small packet into his hand. The man nodded a friendly adieu and walked rapidly out of sight. For a few seconds Denby stood watching and then rejoined his friend. “Anything the matter?” the timorous one demanded eagerly. “Why should there be?” Denby returned. “Don’t worry, Monty, there’s nothing to get nervous about yet.” Monty remembered the confidential conversation between the two. “He seemed to have a lot to tell you,” he insisted. Denby smiled. “He did; but he came as a friend. Harlow wanted to warn me that while I was buying the necklace a stranger was mightily interested and asked Harlow what he knew about me.” “There you are,” Monty gasped excitedly, “I told you it was all up. Did Harlow know who the man was?” “He suspected him of being a customs spy. Our customs service takes the civilized world as its hunting ground and Paris is specially beloved of it.” “What are you going to do?” Monty asked when he had looked suspiciously at an amiable old priest who went ambling by. “They’ll get you.” “They may,” Denby said, “but the interested gentleman at Cartier’s won’t.” “But he knows all about you,” Monty persisted. “It will be dead easy.” “He doesn’t,” the other returned. “Harlow took the liberty of transforming me into an Argentine ranch owner of unbounded wealth about to purchase a mansion in the Parc Monceau.” “That was mighty good of him,” Monty cried in relief. “That fellow Harlow is certainly all right.” Denby smiled a trifle oddly, Monty thought. “His kind ways have won him a thousand dollars,” he returned. “Did you see me pass him something?” Monty nodded. “Well, that was five thousand francs. I passed it to him, not in the least because I believe in the mythical stranger--” “What do you mean?” the amazed Monty exclaimed. It seemed to him he was getting lost in a world of whose existence he had been unaware. “Simply this,” Denby told him, “that I disbelieve Harlow’s story and am not as easily impressed by kind faces as you are. I think Harlow’s inquisitive stranger was a fake.” Monty looked at him with a superior air. “And you mean to say,” he said with the air of one who has studied financial systems, “that you handed over a thousand dollars without verifying it? I call that being easy.” “It’s this way,” Denby explained patiently. “Harlow knows I have the necklace and he’s in a position to know on what boat I sail. If I had not remembered that I owed him five thousand francs just now he might have informed the customs that I had bought a million-franc necklace and I should have been marked down as one to whom a special search must be made if I didn’t declare it.” “But if he’s a clerk in Cartier’s what has he to do with the customs?” Monty asked.