“Janet,” said Crawford, “it’s a good thing I’m married, or I’d apply for the post myself.”

“All right,” agreed Killigrew; “a bargain’s a bargain.”

“A wager’s a wager,” thought Kitty.

“If you wake up some fine morning and find the funds gone . . .”

“Mother and I will attend to all checks, such as they are.”

“Kitty, any day you say I’ll take you into the firm as chief counsel.  But before I approve of your selection, I’d like to have a talk with our friend Webb.”

“He expects it.  You are to see him on the main-deck at three this afternoon.”

“Molly, how long have we been married?”

“Thirty years, Daniel.”

“How old is Kitty?”

“Mother!”

“Twenty-two,” answered Mrs. Killigrew relentlessly.

“Well, I was going to say that I’ve learned more about the Killigrew family in these four months of travel than in all those years together.”

“Something more than ornaments,” suggested Kitty dryly.

“Yes, indeed,” replied her father amiably.

And when he returned to the boat-deck that afternoon for tea (which, by the way, he never drank, being a thorough-going coffee merchant), he said to Kitty:  “You win on points.  If Webb doesn’t pan out, why, we can discharge him.  I’ll take a chance at a man who isn’t afraid to look you squarely in the eyes.”

At the precise time when Kitty retired and Thomas went aft for his good night pipe—­eleven o’clock at sea and nine in New York—­Haggerty found himself staring across the street at an old-fashioned house.  Like the fisherman who always returns to the spot where he lost the big one, the detective felt himself drawn toward this particular dwelling.  Crawford did not live there any more; since his marriage he had converted it into a private museum.  It was filled with mummies and cartonnages, ancient pottery and trinkets.

What a game it had been!  A hundred thousand in precious gems, all neatly packed away in the heels of Crawford’s old shoes!  And where was that man Mason?  Would he ever return?  Oh, well; he, Haggerty, had got his seven thousand in rewards; he was living now like a nabob up in the Bronx.  He had no real cause to regret Mason’s advent or his escape.  Yet, deep in his heart burned the chagrin of defeat:  his man had got away, and half the game (if you’re a true hunter) was in putting your hand on a man’s shoulder and telling him to “Come along.”

He crossed the street and entered the, alley and gazed up at the fire-escape down which Mason had made his escape.  What impelled the detective to leap up and catch the lower bars of the ground-ladder he could not have told you.  He pulled himself up and climbed to the window.

Open!

Haggerty had nerves like steel wires, but a slight shiver ran down his spine.  Open, and Crawford yet on the high seas.  He waited, listening intently.  Not a sound of any sort came to his ears.  He stepped inside courageously and slipped with his back to the wall, where he waited, holding his breath.