"Don't get excited, sir. You'll burst a blood vessel, an' that's a
good sight worse than a cut," cautioned Turk.

"Turk, in all your burglarious years, did you ever go about robbing
a house in that manner?"

"Not in a million years."

"Well, what are we to do next?" demanded Quentin, reflectively,
ignoring his former question and Turk's specific answer. "Shall we
give the police all the information we have and land Mr. Courant in
jail?"

"This is our game, sir, not th' police's. For th' Lord's sake, don't
give anything up to th' cops. They'll raise particular thunder in
their sleep, an' we gets th' rough ha! ha! from our frien's, th'
enemy. We pipes this little game ourself, an' we wins, too, if we
succeed in keepin' th' police from gettin' nex' to anything they'd
mistake for a clue."

Phil thought long and hard before sitting down at noon to write to
Dickey Savage. He disliked calling for help in the contest, but with
a bandaged arm and the odds against him, he finally resolved that he
needed the young New Yorker at his side. Dickey was deliberation
itself, and he was brave and loyal. So the afternoon's post carried
a letter to Savage, who was still in London, asking him to come to
Brussels at once, if he could do so conveniently. The same post
carried a letter to Lord Bob, and in it the writer admitted that he
might need reinforcements before the campaign closed. He also