“Indeed I will!  We never can forget what you have done for us.  Good-by.”

“Good-by, Mr. Gatewood.  Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three hours.  Of course, if you can’t do this, there are other methods I may employ—­a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours.  We are already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club.  I do not believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny.  Good night!”

Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver.  Song broke softly from his lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, buoyant—­sort of subdued and modest prance.

“Now,” he said to himself, “Tommy must take out his papers.  The time is ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will.”

CHAPTER XIV

In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that gentleman’s will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able to find for himself.

He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a single and attentive rank.  In this rank were five men:  a policeman, a cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools.

The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips of his thin fingers.

“I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and the number 38 replaced by No. 36,” he said to the policeman.  “I want it done at once.  Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an hour.  Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not interfere.  There is nobody in No. 38:  Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow.”

And, turning to the others:  “You,” nodding at the reformed burglar, “know your duty.  Mike!” to the cab driver, “don’t miss Mr. Kerns at the Lenox Club.  If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have an accident.  And you,” to the agent of the telephone company, “will sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley’s house; and you,” to the official of the electric company, “will see that the circuit in Mrs. Stanley’s house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no electric bell sound.”

The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully.  “And that,” he ended, “will do, I think.  Good night.”

He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire.