The fight was brief, for we outnumbered them more than three to one.  O’Connor himself snapped a pair of steel bracelets on the thin man, who seemed to be leader of the party.

“It’s all up, Pitts Slim,” he ground out from his set teeth.

One of our men flashed his bull’s-eye on the three prisoners.  I caught myself as in a dream.

Pitts Slim was Maloney, the detective.

An hour later, at headquarters, after the pedigrees had been taken, the “mugging” done, and the jewels found on the three yeggs checked off from the list of the Branford pearls, leaving a few thousand dollars’ worth unaccounted for, O’Connor led the way into his private office.  There were Mrs. Branford and Blake, waiting.

Maloney sullenly refused to look at his former employer, as Blake rushed over and grasped Kennedy’s hand, asking eagerly:  “How did you do it, Kennedy?  This is the last thing I expected.”

Craig said nothing, but slowly opened a now crumpled envelope, which contained an untoned print of a photograph.  He laid it on the desk.  “There is your yeggman—­at work,” he said.

We bent over to look.  It was a photograph of Maloney in the act of putting something in the little wall safe in Mrs. Branford’s room.  In a flash it dawned on me—­the quick-shutter camera, the wire connected with the wall safe, Craig’s hint to Maloney that if some of the jewels were found hidden in a likely place in the house, it would furnish the last link in the chain against her, Maloney’s eager acceptance of the suggestion, and his visit to Montclair during which Craig had had hard work to avoid him.

“Pitts Slim, alias Maloney,” added Kennedy, turning to Blake, “your shrewdest private detective, was posing in two characters at once very successfully.  He was your trusted agent in possession of the most valuable secrets of your clients, at the same time engineering all the robberies that you thought were fakes, and then working up the evidence incriminating the victims themselves.  He got into the Branford house with a skeleton key, and killed the maid.  The picture shows him putting this shield-shaped brooch in the safe this afternoon—­here’s the brooch.  And all this time he was the leader of the most dangerous band of yeggmen in the country.”

“Mrs. Branford,” exclaimed Blake, advancing and bowing most profoundly, “I trust that you understand my awkward position?  My apologies cannot be too humble.  It will give me great pleasure to hand you a certified check for the missing gems the first thing in the morning.”

Mrs. Branford bit her lip nervously.  The return of the pearls did not seem to interest her in the least.

“And I, too, must apologise for the false suspicion I had of you and—­and—­depend on me, it is already forgotten,” said Kennedy, emphasising the “false” and looking her straight in the eyes.

She read his meaning and a look of relief crossed her face.  “Thank you,” she murmured simply, then dropping her eyes she added in a lower tone which no one heard except Craig:  “Mr. Kennedy, how can I ever thank you?  Another night, and it would have been too late to save me from myself.”