It was indeed an inspiration.  Kennedy worked quickly now, placing the little box inside the breast plate of the ancient armourer with the top of the instrument projecting right up into the helmet.  It was a strange combination—­the medieval and the ultra-modern.

“Now, Mrs. Dodge,” he said finally, as he had completed installing the thing and hiding the wire under carpets and rugs until it ran out to the connection which he made with the telephone, “don’t breathe a word of it—­to anyone.  We don’t know who to trust or suspect.”

“I shall not,” she answered, by this time thoroughly educated in the value of silence.

Kennedy looked at his watch.

“I’ve got an engagement with the telephone company, now,” he said rather briskly, although I knew that if Elaine had been there the company and everything could have gone hang for the present.  “Sorry not to have seen Miss Elaine,” he added as we bowed ourselves out, “but I think we’ve got her protected now.”

“I hope so,” sighed her aunt.

. . . . . . . .

Elaine’s car had stopped finally at a shop on Fifth Avenue.  She stepped out and entered, leaving her chauffeur to wait.

As she did so, Dan and Billy sidled along the crowded sidewalk.

“There she is, Billy,” pointed out Dan as Elaine disappeared through the swinging doors of the shop.  “Now, you wait right here,” he instructed stealthily, “and when she comes out—­you know what to do.  Only, be careful.”

Dan the Dude left Billy, and Billy surreptitiously drew from under his coat a dirty half loaf of bread.  With a glance about, he dropped it into the gutter close to the entrance to Elaine’s car.  Then he withdrew a little distance.

When Elaine came out and approached her car, Billy, looking as cold and forlorn as could be, shot forward.  Pretending to spy the dirty piece of bread in the gutter, he made a dive for it, just as Elaine was about to step into the car.

Elaine, surprised, drew back.  Billy picked up the piece of bread and, with all the actions of having discovered a treasure, began to gnaw at it voraciously.

Shocked at the disgusting sight, she tried to take the bread away from him.

“I know it’s dirty, Miss,” whimpered Billy, “but it’s the first food I’ve seen for four days.”

Instantly Elaine was full of sympathy.  She had taken the food away.  That would not suffice.

“What’s your name, little boy?” she asked.

“Billy,” he replied, blubbering.

“Where do you live?”

“With me mother and father—­they’re sick—­nothing to eat—­”

He was whimpering an address far over on the East Side.

“Get into the car,” Elaine directed.

“Gee—­but this is swell,” he cried, with no fake, this time.

On they went, through the tenement canyons, dodging children and pushcarts, stopping first at a grocer’s, then at a butcher’s and a delicatessen.  Finally the car stopped where Billy directed.  Billy hobbled out, followed by Elaine and her chauffeur, his arms piled high with provisions.  She was indeed a lovely Lady Bountiful as a crowd of kids quickly surrounded the car.