The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the
bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee.
It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, that
Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket.

"We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat it
was. Look at that."

He pointed to the head-lines on the first page.

"SWIFT NEMESIS ON BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP
AFTER ROBBING HIS PARTNER."

"There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner--robbed him like a
dirty thief."

"Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper down
and stared at Matt.

"That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in hell do we know about
jools? Half a million!--an' the best I could figger it was a hundred
thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it."

They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee
growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some
salient printed fact.

"I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store this
mornin'," Jim gloated.