Godfrey nodded.

“I remember the signature disappeared from old Murgatroyd’s check.”

“Backward or forward, it don’t make no difference.  It all depends on the acid.”

“What acid?”

“Ah,” chuckled Jemmy, “you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?  You never will.  But it all depends on it.  If I put the acid in before the salt, the writin’ disappears at the end of two hours; if I put the salt in before the acid, the writin’ don’t appear for the same length of time.  It took me five years to work it out.”

“But the writing didn’t all appear at once,” I objected.

“Of course not,” said Jemmy impatiently.  “It wasn’t all wrote at once, was it?  It appeared just like it was wrote.”

“How could you time it?”

“Why,” answered Jemmy still more impatiently, “I began operations at the same time every night, didn’t I?  I timed the writin’ for eight-forty-five.”

“But the chair?” I persisted.

Jemmy shot a disgusted glance at Godfrey.

“Any faker on Sixth Avenue can do that,” he said.  “A hook on a thread.  Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said, “one thing.  What horror did you perpetrate last night?”

Jemmy grinned mechanically as he looked at me, and I even fancied he reddened a little.

“Did she tell you about that?” he asked.

“She tried to, but couldn’t.  What was it?”

“Well, you know,” said Jemmy apologetically, “I had to bring matters to a head some way, for the old girl certainly did hate to shell out.  I was sorry to have to scare her, but I couldn’t help it.”

“But what did you do?”

Jemmy blew a ring, and watched it fade away in front of him.

“I don’t think I’ll tell,” he said at last.

Godfrey had been listening with an amused smile.

“We’ll get that detail from Mrs. Magnus,” he said.  “Accept my compliments, Jemmy.  It was cleverly done.  I’m almost sorry you didn’t get away with it.”

“Oh,” answered Jemmy, with studied indifference, “that’s all in the day’s work, you know.  But thank you all the same, Jim.”

He was flicking the ashes from the end of his cigar as he spoke, and I saw that he didn’t meet Godfrey’s eyes.

The latter looked at him an instant; then, with a low exclamation, sprang to his feet, and snapped open the bag in which I had stowed the packets Jemmy had given me.  He ripped one of them open, and disclosed, not ten thousand dollars in currency, but a neat bundle of blank paper!

Jemmy was looking at him now, and his face was alight with triumph.

“How did you know I was there?” Godfrey demanded.

“I didn’t,” grinned Jemmy.  “But I wasn’t takin’ any chances.”

“Who was your pal?”

“That’s tellin’,” answered Jemmy easily.

“Did you see any of the servants, Lester?”

“Only one,” I said.  “I didn’t notice anything about her, except that she was rather good-looking, and—­oh, yes—­the little finger of her left hand was missing.”