“The world is filled with idiots,” he raved furiously.  “I’m tired and I’m hungry.  I skipped luncheon and I’ve been too busy to think of dinner.”

He walked back to his taxicab and returned to the hotel where, hope springing eternal in his breast, he called Prospect 3249 again and discovered that the missing Herman Joost had returned to the bosom of his family.  To him the frantic Peck delivered the message of B. Cohn, whereupon the cautious Herman Joost replied that he would confirm the authenticity of the message by telephoning to Mr. Cohn at Mr. Simon’s home in Mill Valley.  If Mr. B. Cohn or Cohen confirmed Mr. Kek’s story he, the said Herman Joost, would be at the store sometime before nine o’clock, and if Mr. Kek cared to, he might await him there.

Mr. Kek said he would be delighted to wait for him there.

At nine-fifteen Herman Joost appeared on the scene.  On his way down the street he had taken the precaution to pick up a policeman and bring him along with him.  The lights were switched on in the store and Mr. Joost lovingly abstracted the blue vase from the window.

“What’s the cursed thing worth?” Peck demanded.

“Two thousand dollars,” Mr. Joost replied without so much as the quiver of an eyelash.  “Cash,” he added, apparently as an afterthought.

The exhausted Peck leaned against the sturdy guardian of the law and sighed.  This was the final straw.  He had about ten dollars in his possession.

“You refuse, absolutely, to accept my check?” he quavered.

“I don’t know you, Mr. Peck,” Herman Joost replied simply.

“Where’s your telephone?”

Mr. Joost led Peck to the telephone and the latter called up Mr. Skinner.

“Mr. Skinner,” he announced, “this is all that is mortal of Bill Peck speaking.  I’ve got the store open and for two thousand dollars—­cash—­I can buy the blue vase Mr. Ricks has set his heart upon.”

“Oh, Peck, dear fellow,” Mr. Skinner purred sympathetically.  “Have you been all this time on that errand?”

“I have.  And I’m going to stick on the job until I deliver the goods.  For God’s sake let me have two thousand dollars and bring it down to me at B. Cohen’s Art Shop on Geary Street near Grant Avenue.  I’m too utterly exhausted to go up after it.”

“My dear Mr. Peck, I haven’t two thousand dollars in my house.  That is too great a sum of money to keep on hand.”

“Well, then, come downtown, open up the office safe and get the money for me.”

“Time lock on the office safe, Peck.  Impossible.”

“Well then, come downtown and identify me at hotels and cafes and restaurants so I can cash my own check.”

“Is your check good, Mr. Peck?”

The flood of invective which had been accumulating in Mr. Peck’s system all the afternoon now broke its bounds.  He screamed at Mr. Skinner a blasphemous invitation to betake himself to the lower regions.