“Mr. Brandon, sir?” asked the man.

“Yes.  You have a message for me?”

Before the man could reply, there came a shout from the shrubbery beyond the drive: 

“Grab him, Smith!  He’s the man!”

Instantly Smith’s steely arms were about Larry, pinning his elbows to his sides, and a man broke from the shrubbery and hurried toward the house.  Instinctively Larry started to struggle, but he ceased as he recognized the man coming up the steps.  It was Gavegan.  Larry realized that he had been shrewdly trapped, that resistance would serve no end, and the next moment handcuffs were upon his wrists.

“Well, Brainard,” gloated Gavegan, “we’ve landed you at last!”

“So it seems, Gavegan.”

“You thought you was damned clever, but I guess you know now you ain’t one, two, three!”

“Oh, I knew how clever you are, Gavegan,” Larry responded dryly, “and that you’d get me sooner or later if I hung around.”

As a matter of fact Larry’s capture, which was as unspectacular as his escape had been strenuous, was the consequence of no cleverness at all.  Larry had said to Barney Palmer the night before that he knew who Barney’s sucker was; and Barney had passed this information along to Chief Barlow.  “Follow every clue; luck may be with you and one of the clues may turn up what you want":—­this is in substance an unwritten rule of routine procedure which effects those magnificent police solutions which are presented as more mysterious than the original mystery—­for it is well for the public to believe that its police officers are unfailingly more clever than its criminals.  Barlow had done some routine thinking:  if Larry Brainard knew Dick Sherwood was the sucker, then watching Dick Sherwood might possibly reveal the whereabouts of Larry Brainard.  Barlow had passed this tip along to Gavegan.  Gavegan had grumbled to himself that it was only a thousand to one shot; but luck had been with him, and his long shot had won.

Miss Sherwood, Hunt behind her, had been drawn by the sound of voices around to the side of the veranda where stood the four men.  “What are you doing?” she now sharply demanded of Gavegan.

“Don’t like to make any unpleasant scene, Miss Sherwood, but I’ve gotta tell you that this so-called Brandon is a well-known crook.”  Gavegan enjoyed few things more than astounding people with unpleasant facts.  “His real name is Brainard; he’s done time, and now he’s wanted by the New York police for a tough job he pulled.”

“I knew all that long ago,” said Miss Sherwood.

“Eh—­what?” stammered Gavegan.

“Mr. Brainard told me all that the first time I saw him.”

“Hello, Gavegan,” said Hunt, stepping forward.

“Well, I’ll be—­if you ain’t that crazy—­” Again the ability to express himself coherently and with restraint failed Gavegan.  “If you ain’t that painter that lived down at the Duchess’s!”