"Huh! I guess he's due for the hospital," the owner of the
Austrian Village announced. "He had his nerve, trying to turn a
trick in my place. I thought I knew all the dips, but he's a
stranger." With nimble fingers he ran through the fellow's
pockets, then continued:

"I'm glad you got him, but you'd better get together and rehearse
before the police--" He stopped abruptly once more, then looked up
curiously.

"What is it?" questioned the man from Missouri.

Padden pointed silently to the lapel of the fellow's vest, which
he had turned back. A nickeled badge was pinned upon it. "He's no
thief; he's a detective--a plain-clothes man!"

"Wha'd I tell you!" Higgins exulted. "I can smell 'em!"

The crowd looked nonplussed, with the exception of Jefferson
Locke, who became calmer than at any time since the waiter had
first whispered into his ear.

"We didn't know who he was," he began, hurriedly, "You must square
it for us, Padden. I don't care what it costs." He extended a
bulky roll of bank-notes toward the gray-haired man. "These boys
can't stand this sort of thing, and neither can I. I've got to
sail at ten o'clock this morning."

"Looks to me like you've croaked him," said the proprietor,
ignoring the proffered money.