“Your English is fine this morning—­go ahead.”

“Well—­Hanlon fell into step like with Mr. Henricks, and they walked along, Hanlon doing the talking.  I didn’t dare get close enough to overhear them, for they’re both live wires, and I don’t fool either of ’em into thinking meself a ninkypoop!  So I trailed, but well out’a sight—­and, hold on, Mr. Stone, while I tell you this.  The fake mejum that Miss Ames went to see yesterday afternoon, was none other than friend Hanlon himself!”

“What?  Fibs, are you sure?”

“Sure as shootin’!  I spotted him the minute he came up to Mrs, Embury’s.  I didn’t reckernize him at first as the whiskered Moses, but I did later.  You know, Mr. Stone, I saw him do stunts for newspapers in two towns, and I wonder I didn’t tumble to him in the spookshop.  But I didn’t—­I dessay because when I saw him doing his mind-readin’ tricks outdoors he was blindfolded, which some concealed his natural scenery.  Well, he hadn’t more’n tripped over the Embury ‘Welcome’ mat, than I was onto him.  Me thinker woiked light lightnin’ and I had him ticketed and pigeonholed in no time.”

“Is he mixed up in the Embury case?”

“He’s mixed up with Mr. Hendricks in some way, and he learned from Miss Ames that Hendricks was to be among those present, so he made up foolish excuses and betook himself to the vicinity of said Hendricks.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to converse with him, and couldn’t get hold of him otherwise.  Hendricks, it would seem, didn’t hanker for said conversation.”

“I remember Hanlon asked Mr. Hendricks if he were going his way, and Hendricks said he was going to spend the evening where he was.”

“Egg-zackly.  And did.  But all the same, Hanlon waited.  And a wait of an hour and a half registers patience and perseverance —­to my mind.”

“Right you are!  And you trailed the pair?”

“Did I?” Fibsy fell back in his chair, as if exhausted.  “I followed them to Mr. Hendricks’ home, they chatterin’ glibly all the way—­and then after a few minutes’ further remarks on the doorstep Hendricks, he went in—­and Hanlon—!  You know, Mr. Stone, Hanlon’s nobody’s fool, and he knew I was follerin’ him as well as he knew his name!  I don’t know how he knew it—­for I was most careful to keep out’a sight, but all the same, he did know it—­and what do you think he did?  He led me a chase of miles —­and miles—­and miles!  That’s what he did!”

“On purpose?”

“On purpose!  Laughin’ in his silly sleeve!  I was game.  I trotted along—­but bullieve me!  I was mad!  And the galoot was so slick about it!  Why, he walked up Broadway first—­as if he had a business appointment in a desprit hurry.  Then, having reached Hunderd an’ Twenty-fi’th Street, he pauses a minute—­to be sure I’m trailin’, the vilyun and then, he swings East, and across town, and turns South again—­oh, well, Mr. Stone, he simpully makes me foller him till I’m that dog-tired, I near drops in my tracks.  And, to top the heap, he leads me straight to this hotel, where we’re stayin’—­yes, sir! right here—­and makin’ a sharp turn, he says, ‘Good-night!’ pleasant like, and scoots off.  Can you beat it?”