“Ah, yes,” Denby admitted. “I forgot that you hadn’t met him officially and that the boys don’t know who he is either. Here’s my commission.” Gibbs stared at the document ravenously. “And that’s my photograph,” Denby added. “A pretty good likeness it’s usually considered.” Duncan was now at his comrade’s side, poring over it. “It sure is,” he agreed. “This thing,” said Gibbs the discoverer, “is made out in the name of Richard Jones!” “Well, do you get the initials?” Denby queried. “R. J.,” Gibbs read out as one might mystic things without meaning. “That’s me,” Denby smiled, “R. J. of the secret service. That’s the name I’m known by.” Gibbs offered his hand. “If you’re R. J.,” he said admiringly, “I’d like to shake hands with you. Are you, on the level, R. J.?” “I’m afraid I am,” the other admitted. “It’s a lie,” Taylor shouted. Denby pointed to the paper. “You can’t get away from that signature. It’s signed by the President of the United States.” “I tell you it’s a fake,” the man cried angrily. “They don’t seem to think so,” Denby remarked equably. “This is on the level, all right,” Duncan announced after prolonged scrutiny. Denby turned to the deputy-surveyor. “Taylor,” he said gravely, “for three years the Government has been trying to land the big blackmailer in the Customs. They brought me into it and I set a trap with a necklace as a bait. The whole thing was a plant from Harlow’s tip, the telegram I sent myself this afternoon, to the accidental dropping of the pearls, so that you could see them through the screen. You walked right into it, Taylor. Twice before you came and looked into other traps and had some sort of intuition and kept out of them. This time, Taylor, it worked.” “You can’t get away with that,” Taylor said threateningly. “I’m not going to listen to this.” “Wait a minute,” Denby advised him. “You’ve been in the service long enough to know that the rough stuff won’t go. You’d only get the worst of it; so take things easily.” He smiled pleasantly at the other men. “I’m glad to find you boys weren’t in on this. Take him along with you, and this, too.” He tossed the necklace on the table from which it slid to the floor at Gibbs’ feet. Gibbs made a quick step forward to recover it, but trod on part of the string and crushed many of the stones. Poor Gibbs looked at the damage he had done aghast. If the thing were worth two hundred thousand dollars, a ponderous calculation forced the dreadful knowledge upon him that he had destroyed possibly a quarter of them. Fifty thousand dollars! Tears came to his eyes. “Honest to goodness,” he groaned, looking imploringly at the august R. J., “I couldn’t help it.” “Don’t worry,” Denby laughed. “They’re fakes. Take what’s left as Exhibit A.” Gibbs recovered his ease of manner quickly and took a few steps nearer the fallen Chief. “And to think I’ve been working for a crook two years and never knew it,” he said, with a childlike air of wonder.