So, here, the hero of the gridiron and the class re-union,
the gallant of a hundred pre-matrimonial and non-maturing
engagements, the veteran of a thousand drolleries and merry
jousts in clubdom--unspoiled by birth, breeding and wealth,
untrammeled by the juggernaut of pot-boiling and the
salary-grind, had drifted into the curious profession of
confidential, consulting criminal chaser.

Shirley unostentatiously signaled for an encore on the
refreshments.

"You're nervous to-night, Captain. You've been doing things
before you consulted me--which is against our Rule Number One,
isn't it?"

The Captain gulped down his whiskey, and rubbed his forehead.

"Couldn't help it, Monty. It got too busy for me, before I
realized anything unusual in the case. See what I got from a
gangster before I landed here."

He turned his close-cropped head, as Montague Shirley leaned
forward to observe an abrasion at the base of his skull. It
was dressed with a coating of collodion.

"Brass knuckled--I see the mark of the rings. Tried for the
pneumogastric nerves, to quiet you."

"Whatever he tried for he nearly got. Kelly's nightstick got
his pneumonia gas jet, or whatever you call it. He's still