“That’s Dandy Jim Valentine’s autograph.  He’s resumed business.  Look at that combination knob—­jerked out as easy as pulling up a radish in wet weather.  He’s got the only clamps that can do it.  And look how clean those tumblers were punched out!  Jimmy never has to drill but one hole.  Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine.  He’ll do his bit next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness.”

Ben Price knew Jimmy’s habits.  He had learned them while working up the Springfield case.  Long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, and a taste for good society—­these ways had helped Mr. Valentine to become noted as a successful dodger of retribution.  It was given out that Ben Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.

One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed out of the mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down in the black-jack country of Arkansas.  Jimmy, looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, went down the board side-walk toward the hotel.

A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and entered a door over which was the sign, “The Elmore Bank.”  Jimmy Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became another man.  She lowered her eyes and coloured slightly.  Young men of Jimmy’s style and looks were scarce in Elmore.

Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as if he were one of the stockholders, and began to ask him questions about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals.  By and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the suit-case, and went her way.

“Isn’t that young lady Polly Simpson?” asked Jimmy, with specious guile.

“Naw,” said the boy.  “She’s Annabel Adams.  Her pa owns this bank.  What’d you come to Elmore for?  Is that a gold watch-chain?  I’m going to get a bulldog.  Got any more dimes?”

Jimmy went to the Planters’ Hotel, registered as Ralph D. Spencer, and engaged a room.  He leaned on the desk and declared his platform to the clerk.  He said he had come to Elmore to look for a location to go into business.  How was the shoe business, now, in the town?  He had thought of the shoe business.  Was there an opening?

The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy.  He, himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings.  While trying to figure out Jimmy’s manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially gave information.

Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line.  There wasn’t an exclusive shoe-store in the place.  The dry-goods and general stores handled them.  Business in all lines was fairly good.  Hoped Mr. Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore.  He would find it a pleasant town to live in, and the people very sociable.