“Tomorrow morning,” he promised hoarsely, “I’ll beat you to death with the stump of my left arm, you miserable, cold-blooded, lazy, shiftless slacker.”

He called up Cappy Ricks’ residence next, and asked for Captain Matt Peasley, who, he knew, made his home with his father-in-law.  Matt Peasley came to the telephone and listened sympathetically to Peck’s tale of woe.

“Peck, that’s the worst outrage I ever heard of,” he declared.  “The idea of setting you such a task.  You take my advice and forget the blue vase.”

“I can’t,” Peck panted.  “Mr. Ricks will feel mighty chagrined if I fail to get the vase to him.  I wouldn’t disappoint him for my right arm.  He’s been a dead game sport with me, Captain Peasley.”

“But it’s too late to get the vase to him, Peck.  He left the city at eight o’clock and it is now almost half past nine.”

“I know, but if I can secure legal possession of the vase I’ll get it to him before he leaves the train at Santa Barbara at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“How?”

“There’s a flying school out at the Marina and one of the pilots there is a friend of mine.  He’ll fly to Santa Barbara with me and the vase.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I know it.  Please lend me two thousand dollars.”

“What for?”

“To pay for the vase.”

“Now I know you’re crazy—­or drunk.  Why if Cappy Ricks ever forgot himself to the extent of paying two hundred dollars for a vase he’d bleed to death in an hour.”

“Won’t you let me have two thousand dollars, Captain Peasley?”

“I will not, Peck, old son.  Go home and to bed and forget it.”

“Please.  You can cash your checks.  You’re known so much better than I, and it’s Sunday night—­”

“And it’s a fine way to keep holy the Sabbath day,” Matt Peasley retorted and hung up.

“Well,” Herman Joost queried, “do we stay here all night?”

Bill Peck bowed his head.  “Look here,” he demanded suddenly, “do you know a good diamond when you see it?”

“I do,” Herman Joost replied.

“Will you wait here until I go to my hotel and get one?”

“Sure.”

Bill Peck limped painfully away.  Forty minutes later he returned with a platinum ring set with diamonds and sapphires.

“What are they worth?” he demanded.

Herman Joost looked the ring over lovingly and appraised it conservatively at twenty-five hundred dollars.

“Take it as security for the payment of my check,” Peck pleaded.  “Give me a receipt for it and after my check has gone through clearing I’ll come back and get the ring.”

Fifteen minutes later, with the blue vase packed in excelsior and reposing in a stout cardboard box, Bill Peck entered a restaurant and ordered dinner.  When he had dined he engaged a taxi and was driven to the flying field at the Marina.  From the night watchman he ascertained the address of his pilot friend and at midnight, with his friend at the wheel, Bill Peck and his blue vase soared up into the moonlight and headed south.