Haggerty’s news hit Killigrew hard.  Thomas.  There must be a mistake.  He had not studied men all these years without learning to read young and old with creditable accuracy.  Thomas was as easy to read as an amateur’s scorecard; runs were runs, hits were hits, outs were outs.  Why, Thomas wouldn’t have stolen an apple from a farmer’s orchard—­without permission.  What, enter a carriage in a fog, steal a necklace, and carry it abound with him for months?  Never in this world.  And private secretary to the very person he had robbed?  Of all the fool situations, this was the cap!  Imbecility was written all over the face of it.  It was simply a coincidence in the matter of names.  Yet, steward on the Celtic; there was no getting away from that.  There could not have been two Thomas Webbs on board.  I’m afraid Killigrew swore; distant thunder, off behind the hills there.  He struck the desk with his balled fist.  He knew it; it was that infernal opal of Kitty’s getting in its deadly work.  And what would Kitty say?  What would she do?

He stood up and pulled down the roller-top violently.  The crash of it sent every clerk, bookkeeper and stenographer huddling over his or her work.  Two bangs all in one morning?  What had happened to the coffee market?  As a matter of fact, coffee fell off a quarter point between then and closing; which goes to prove that the stock-market depends upon its business less in the matter of supply and demand than in “signs.”

On board the yacht Killigrew laid the affair before Crawford.

“What do you believe?”

“I’ve reached the point,” said Crawford, “where I believe in nothing except this young lady,” and he laid his hand over his wife’s.  “For ten years I had a valet named Mason.  I would have staked my life on his integrity, his honesty.  He turned out to be an accomplished rogue.  Went with me into the wilds of Africa and Persia, through deserts, swamps, over mountains; tireless, resourceful, dependable; and saved my life twice.  Its knocked a hole in my faith in mankind.”

“Listen here,” said Haggerty.  “Without your knowing it, he always carried a bunch o’ first-class skeleton keys.  I’m dead sure he was working his game all th’ time.  He came back for them keys, but he didn’t get ’em.  He’s in New York somewheres.  D’ y’ think y’ could recognize him if y’ saw him?”

“Instantly.”

“A man can change his looks in two years,” said Forbes.  “Remember File Number 113?”

“This is real life, Mort; not a detective story.”

“How would you recognise him?”

“That I’m unable to explain.  It’s what Haggerty here calls a hunch.”

Haggerty nodded.  “An’ if y’ depend on ’em y’ generally land.  I’ve made some mistakes in my time, not believing in my hunches.  This Webb business goes t’ show.  I had a hunch that something was wrong, but your Webb had such a kid face, th’ hunch pulled for him.  Well, if y’ ever see Mason again, what’ll y’ do?”