josser?" said Collins with a wink and a grin. "Ain't you found out even
yet, you silly? Why, it was only a faked-up thing--the taking of a
kinematograph picture for the Alhambra. You and Petrie ought to have
been here sooner and got your wages, you goats. I got half a quid for my
share when I let him go."

Smathers and Petrie lifted up their voices in one despairing howl.

"When you what?" fairly yelled Smathers. "You fool! You don't mean to
tell me that you let them take you in like that--those two? You don't
mean to tell me that you had him--had him in your hands--and then let
him go? You did? Oh! you seventy-seven kinds of a double-barrelled ass!
Had him--think of it!--had him, and let him go! Did yourself out of a
share in a reward of two hundred quid when you'd only to shut your hands
and hold on to it!"

"Two hundred quid? Two hun--W-what are you talking about? Wasn't it
true? Wasn't it a kinematograph picture, after all?"

"No, you fool, no!" howled Smathers, fairly dancing with despair. "Oh,
you blithering idiot! You ninety-seven varieties of a fool! Do you know
who you had in your hands? Do you know who you let go? It was that devil
'Forty Faces'--'The Vanishing Cracksman'--the man who calls himself
'Hamilton Cleek'; and the woman was his pal, his confederate, his
blessed stool-pigeon--'Margot, the Queen of the Apache'; and she came
over from Paris to help him in that clean scoop of Lady Dresmer's jewels
last week!"

"Heavens!" gulped Collins, too far gone to say anything else, too deeply
dejected to think of anything but that he had had the man for whom