The detective canted his head, looked the tramp over from his shoes to his unkempt head, and turned suddenly to Kling.  “Who’s Mr. O’Day?” he snapped.

“He’s my clerk,” growled Otto, his determination to get rid of the man checked by this new turn in the situation.

“Can I see him?”

“No, you can’t see him, because he’s gone out vid Kitty Cleary.  He’ll be back maybe in an hour—­ maybe he don’t come back at all.  He don’t know noddin about dis bis’ness and nobody don’t let him know noddin about it until to-morrow.  Den my little Beesving know de first.  Half de fun is in de surprise.”

The detective at once lost interest in Kling, and turned to the tramp again—­the two moving out of Otto’s hearing.  A new and fresh scent had crossed the trail—­one it might be wise to follow.

“You work here?” he asked.  He had taken his measure in a glance and was ready to use him.

“No, I work in John Cleary’s express office,” grunted the tramp.  “Mr. O’Day wanted me to come over and help for New Year’s.”

“What’s he got to do with you?”

“He got me my job.”

“He’s an Englishman, ain’t he?”

“Yes, and the best ever.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” sneered the detective.  “Been working here a year and knows the ropes.  So you saw the man come in and O’Day, the clerk, saw him go out, did he?  And O’Day sent for you to stay around in case any questions were asked?  Is that it?”

The tramp’s lip was lifted, showing his teeth.  “No, that ain’t it by a damned sight!  I know who pinched the goods—­knowed him for months.  Know his name, just as well as I know yours.  I got on to you soon as you come in.”

The detective shot a quick glance at the speaker.  “Me?” he returned quietly.

“Yes—­you.  Your name is Pickert—­one of your names—­you’ve got half a dozen.  And the guy’s name is Stanton.  He hangs out at the Bowdoin House, and when he ain’t there he’s playin’ pool at Steve Lipton’s where I used to work.  Are you on?”

The detective betrayed no surprise, neither over the mention of his own name nor that of Stanton.  If the tramp’s story were true he would have the bracelets on the thief before morning.  He decided, however, to try the old game first.

“It may be worth something to you if you can make good,” he said, with a confidential shrug of his near shoulder.

The tramp thrust out his chin with a gesture of disgust.  “Nothin’ doin’!  You can keep your plunks.  I don’t want ’em.  I know you fellers—­I got onto your curves when I was on my uppers.  When you can’t get your flippers on the right man you slip ’em on the first galoot you catch, and I want to tell you right here that you can’t mix Mr. O’Day in this business, for he don’t know nothin’ about it, nor anything else that’s crooked.  I’ll get this man Stanton for you if the boss will let me out for an hour.  Shall I ask him?”