Taylor walked briskly across the hall and threw open the door of the room in which his subordinates were guarding their prisoner. “Duncan,” he called, “and Gibbs, come here.” When they had come in with Ethel Cartwright, he turned to them impressively. “Boys,” he declared, “it was all a mistake.” “What!” cried his men. “Thank God!” the girl cried softly. “Our dope was phoney. We were tipped off wrong by someone, out of mischief or malice--I’ll have to look into that--and we’re all in wrong. It was a case of mistaken identity, but Mr. Denby’s been very nice about it, very nice, indeed. Let the lady go, Jim.” “I asked Mr. Taylor to send for you,” Denby explained, “because I thought it was due you, and I didn’t want any come-back. I want you all to understand the facts, if you don’t mind waiting, Miss Cartwright.” “Of course I’ll wait,” she said brightly. What had happened to change things she could not guess, but she was confident the man she loved had some magic to save them both. “Listen to him, boys,” Taylor counselled. “You see, he’s a bit anxious to straighten things out, so tell him all you know. Fire ahead, Mr. Denby.” Denby addressed himself to James Duncan. “You got a tip from Harlow that a Steven Denby had bought a necklace at Cartier’s?” “Yes, sir,” Duncan agreed. Denby now turned to Gibbs who assumed a character of importance. “Then you got a wireless that this Denby had sailed with Mrs. Michael Harrington and Mr. Montague Vaughan, which threw suspicion on the lady as a possible smuggler?” “That’s right, too,” Gibbs conceded, contentedly. “And yet,” Denby remarked with inquiry in his tone, “you let Denby slip through the Customs to-day, didn’t you?” Taylor’s satisfied expression had faded partially. “You see,” he explained, “we didn’t have any absolute evidence to arrest him on.” “Just what I was going to say,” Gibbs remarked. “But after he got through,” Denby went on, “you received an anonymous telegram late this afternoon that Denby carried the necklace in a tobacco-pouch, didn’t you?” Taylor advanced a step frowning. “What’s all this, anyway?” he demanded. “How do you know about that telegram?” “I found it out to-night,” Denby said pleasantly. “That’s a private Government matter,” Taylor blustered. Denby looked at him in surprise. “Surely,” he said, “you don’t object to my making things clear? I was pretty nice to you, Mr. Taylor.” Taylor’s fingers nestled tenderly about the crackling notes in his pocket. “All right,” he assented, “go ahead.” Denby turned on the expectant Gibbs. “You knew about that tip in the telegram?” “First I ever heard about it,” Gibbs returned, open-eyed. “Then you didn’t tell them?” Denby observed, looking toward their chief. “That was my own business,” Taylor said impatiently. He wished this fool cross-examination over, and himself out of Long Island.