“Eh?” says I.  “Oh-ho!”

It was only a quick glance he shot over, but I caught who it was aimed at.  Also, I noticed the effect.  And just like that I had a swift hunch how all this ground-floor mix-up might be worked in useful.

“Mr. Pettigrew,” says I, “suppose I could Sherlock Holmes this laundry mystery without callin’ in the cops?”

“Oh, I should be so grateful!” says T. Waldo.

“That ain’t the answer,” says I.  “Would it make you feel different about sellin’ that land?”

“Oh, I say, you know!” protests T. Waldo, startin’ to stiffen up.

For a two-by-four he lugs around a lot of cranky whims, and it looked like this was one of his pets.  There’s quite a mulish streak in him, too.

“All right,” says I, startin’ towards the basement stairs.  “Settle it your own way.”

“But, really, I—­I don’t know what to do,” says Waldo.  “I—­I’m all upset.  Of course, if you insist on the land—­”

“That’s talkin’!” says I.  “My guess is that it won’t take long.  Suppose you and Peters go back upstairs.  You can leave Tidman, though.”

“You—­you’re sure it is safe?” asks Waldo.

“Look at that grip of Mrs. Flynn’s,” says I.

After one skittish glance, Waldo does a quick exit.  At that, though, Peters beat him to it.

“Tidman,” says I, when they’re gone, “we’ll step out towards the back a ways and consult.  Hold him a minute longer, Mrs. Flynn.”

“I—­I don’t see why I should be dragged into this,” whines Tidman, as I leads him towards the rear.

“Never mind,” says I.  “We’re goin’ to clear this all up right away.  Now, who is he, Tidman?  Black-sheep brother, or what?”

Got a jump out of him, that jab did.  But he recovers quick.

“Why, he’s no relative at all,” says Tidman.  “I assure you that I never saw the—­”

“Naughty, naughty!” says I.  “Didn’t I spot that peaked beak of his, just like yours?  That’s a fam’ly nose, that is.”

“Cousin,” admits Tidman, turnin’ sulky.

“And sort of a blot on the escutcheon?” I goes on.

Tidman nods.

“Booze or dope?” I asks.

“Both, I think,” says Tidman.  “He—­he has almost ruined my career.”

“Pulls the Black Hand stuff on you, eh?” says I.

Tidman groans.

“I lost two positions because of him,” says he.  “It is only when he gets desperate that he hunts me up.  I hadn’t seen him for over two years until this morning.  I’d been out for a walk, and he must have followed me.  We were in the front vestibule, and he was begging, as usual,—­threatening, too,—­when I saw Mr. Pettigrew coming in.  So I hurried Ralph through the hall and downstairs.  I thought he could stay there until I was through tutoring; then I could give him something and send him off.  But that Mrs. Flynn—­”

“She’s a swell short-stop,” says I.  “Doin’ extra duty, too.  Got a couple of fives on you?”