the gateway to the Catskills. Here, at a hotel entrance, the
machine came to a standstill. The Master got out, and turned to
help the Mistress to alight. It was the place they had decided on
for luncheon. Another three hours, at most, would carry them to
their destination.

A negro boy, loafing aimlessly at the street corner, had begun to
whistle industriously to himself as the car slowed down. And he
had wakened into active motion. Apparently, he remembered all at
once an important mission on the other side of the street. For he
set off at a swinging pace.

His course took him so near the back of the car that he had to
turn out, a step or so, to avoid collision with it. He
accompanied this turning-out maneuver by another which was less
ostentatious, but more purposeful. Timing his steps, so as to
pass by the rear of the car just as the Master was busy helping
his wife to descend, the youth thrust an arm over the side of the
tonneau, with the speed of a striking snake. His hand closed on
the handle of a traveling bag, among the heap of luggage. Never
slackening his pace, the negro gave a fierce yank at his plunder,
to hoist it over the closed door.

In that tourist-ridden city, bag-stealing offered much profit. In
the rare chance of detection when he was at work, the boy had
only to plead over-zeal in trying to earn an honest dime by
helping lift the luggage to the sidewalk.

It was a pretty bit of theft; and it betokened long and careful
practice. Thus,--from the thief's standpoint,--it was almost a