Claflin went up the steps, Mr. Wynne ushered him in and closed the door behind him.

Three minutes later Mr. Wynne appeared on the steps again and beckoned to Sutton, who had just witnessed the incident just preceding, and was positively being eaten by curiosity.

“This is Mr. Sutton, isn’t it?” inquired Mr. Wynne.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Well, Mr. Claflin and I are discussing this matter, and my proposition to him was such that he felt if must be made in your presence.  Would you mind stepping inside for a moment?”

“You and the girl decided to give it up?” queried Mr. Sutton triumphantly.

“We are just discussing the matter now,” was the answer.

Sutton went up the steps and disappeared inside.

And about four minutes after that Mr. Wynne stood in the hallway, puffing a little as he readjusted his necktie.  He picked up his hat, drew on his gloves and then rapped on the door of the back parlor.  Miss Kellner appeared.

“We will go now,” said Mr. Wynne quietly.

“But is it safe, Gene?” she asked quickly.

“Perfectly safe, yes.  There’s no danger of being followed if we go immediately.”

She gazed at him wonderingly, then followed him to the door.  He opened it and she passed out, glancing around curiously.  For one instant he paused, and there came a clatter and clamor from somewhere in the rear of the house.  He closed the door with a grim smile.

“Which are the detectives?” asked Miss Kellner, in an awed whisper.

“I don’t see them around just now,” he replied.  “We can get a cab at the corner.”

CHAPTER XII

THE THIRD DEGREE

Some years ago a famous head of the police department clearly demonstrated the superiority of a knock-out blow, frequently administered, as against moral suasion, and from that moment the “third degree” became an institution.  Whatever sort of criticism may be made of the “third degree,” it is, nevertheless, amazingly effective, and beyond that, affords infinite satisfaction to the administrator.  There is a certain vicious delight in brutally smashing a sullen, helpless prisoner in the face; and the “third degree” is not officially in existence.

Red Haney was submitted to the “third degree.”  His argument that he found the diamonds, and that having found them they were his until the proper owner appeared, was futile.  Ten minutes after having passed into a room where sat Chief Arkwright, of the Mulberry Street force, and three of his men, and Steven Birnes, of the Birnes Detective Agency, Haney remembered that he hadn’t found the diamonds at all—­somebody had given them to him.

“Who gave them to you?” demanded the chief.

“I don’t know the guy’s name, Boss,” Haney replied humbly.

“This is to remind you of it.”

Haney found himself sprawling on the floor, and looked up, with a pleading, piteous expression.  His eyes were still red and bleary, his motley face shot with purple, and the fumes of the liquor still clouded his brain.  The chief stood above him with clenched fist.