Both hands slipped into his pockets, and out again. As he
withdrew them, one hand held his battered but patently solid
gold watch. The other gripped his roll of bills and as much
of his small change as he had been able to scoop up in one
rapid grab.

On the stand at the head of the couch reposed a fat tobacco
jar and pipes. The jar was more than half full. Into it,
Gavin Brice dumped his valuables, and with a clawing motion,
scraped a handful of loose tobacco over them. Then he
returned to his former inertly supine posture.

The whole maneuver had not occupied three seconds. And, by
the time Standish had the door closed and had started back
toward the couch, the watch and money were safe-hidden. At
that, there had been little enough time to spare. It had been
a matter of touch-and-go. Nothing but the odd look he had
read in Milo's face as Standish had glanced at him over his
shoulder, would have led Brice to take such a chance. But,
all at once, it had seemed a matter of stark necessity.

The narrow escape from detection set his strained nerves to
twitching. He muttered to himself:

"Come along then, you man-mountain! You wanted to get your
sister out of the way, so you could go through my clothes and
see if I was lying about being flat broke and if I had any
incriminating papers on me. Come along, and search! If I
hadn't brains enough to fool a chucklehead, like you, I'd go