Walker gave it to him and turned to me. “Perhaps,” he said, “we had better see if the trunks got on. We have nearly ten minutes to wait.” And he walked away toward the great stair leading to the baggage room. The girl did not move; she did not speak; she remained as she had stood in Bartoldi’s shop, her head down, concealed as far as she was able to conceal it, under the drooping hat loaded with soiled roses. Walker was crossing toward the great stair in his long stride and I hurrying in my astonishment to overtake him. “The devil, man!” I cried when I came up. “Why did you give him my diamond?” “I wanted to see if there was a scar in his hand,” said Walker. “He had it.” “Then you know him?” “Surely,” said Walker. “Aren’t you going to arrest him?” Walker had returned to his careless manner. “No,” he said, “I am not going to arrest him. You saw his hands go into his pockets. There would have been a lot of people killed if it hadn’t been for your diamond. It’s lucky I thought of it; besides, I had to see the inside of his hand.” “But my diamond,” I said, “when will I get it?” Walker continued in his leisurely drawl: “You will get your diamond when Bartoldi gets his.” “When will that be?” I insisted. “Right now,” replied Walker. Then he paused in his stride, took off his hat and extended it for a moment above his head like a tired person who would relax from the fatigue of travel. Immediately three persons, two men and a woman between them, carrying bags, coats and the usual articles of travel, came out from the crowd pouring into the station from the street and crossed hurriedly into the group waiting at the entrance for the Bar Harbor train. Then a dramatic thing happened. I could see the old man clearly; he was watching Walker out of the tail of his eye, and he kept his hands in his pockets, but he was not watching the three persons who came into the group as though seeking the train for which he was bound; and as they passed, quicker than the eye, the man’s hands were seized, dragged out of his pockets and snapped into handcuffs. The pistols gripped in his hands were swept out; they fell to the floor. “The devil!” I cried. “The old boy is the most dangerous Lothario I ever saw.” Walker replied in his leisurely drawl: “He’s the most dangerous bank swindler you ever saw.” * * * * * The girl had been questioned, and the thing was now clear. Walker explained it all on the way to Bartoldi’s in a taxicab. I had my diamond in my pocket, and Walker had Bartoldi’s to exchange for the forged draft. The old man was Vronsky, the most notorious forger in the world. He had bribed this girl, the janitress of the Empire Bank at Bar Harbor, to steal a book of blank drafts and some sheets of stationery. It was easy to do; the book of blanks was lying on the bookkeeper’s desk in the package as it had come from the printer, and the stationery had never been locked up.