“‘So I went,’ said Allen.  ’I provided myself with two disguises, as a careful man should, but by the time I reached that outlandish hole, Asquith, the little thing I was mixed up in burst prematurely, and the papers were full of it that morning.  The whole place was out with sticks, so to speak, hunting for you.  They told me the published description hit you to a dot, all except the scar, and they quarrelled about that.  I posed as the promoter of resort syndicates, and I hired the Scimitar and sailed over to Bear Island; and I didn’t have a bad time that afternoon, only Cooke insisted on making remarks about my whiskers, and I was in mortal fear lest he might accidentally pull one off.  He came cursed near it.  By the way, he’s the very deuce of a man, isn’t he?  I knew he took me for a detective, so I played the part.  And in the night that ass of a state senator nearly gave me pneumonia by getting me out in the air to tell me they had hid you in a cave.  So I sat up all night, and followed the relief party in the morning, and you nearly disfigured me for life when you threw that bottle into the woods.  Then I went back to camp, and left so fast that I forgot my extra pair of red whiskers.  I had two of each disguise, you know, so I didn’t miss them.

“‘I guess,’ Mr. Allen went on, gleefully, ’that I got off about as cleanly as any criminal ever did, thanks to you.  If we’d fixed the thing up between us it couldn’t have been any neater, could it?  Because I went straight to Far Harbor and got you into a peck of trouble, right away, and then slipped quietly into Canada, and put on the outfit of a travelling salesman.  And right here another bright idea struck me.  Why not carry the thing farther?  I knew that you had advertised a trip to Europe (why, the Lord only knows), so I went East and sailed for England on the Canadian Line.  And let me thank you for a little sport I had in a quiet way as the author of The Sybarites.  I think I astonished some of your friends, old boy.’”

The Celebrity lighted another cigarette.

“So if it hadn’t been for me,” he said, “the ’Miles Standish Bicycle Company’ wouldn’t have gone to the wall.  Can they sentence me for assisting Allen to get away, Crocker?  If they can, I believe I shall stay over here.”

“I think you are safe,” said I.  “But didn’t Allen tell you any more?”

“No.  A man he used to know came into the cafe, and Allen got out of the back door.  And I never saw him again.”

“I believe I can tell you a little more,” said Marian.

......................

The Celebrity is still writing books of a high moral tone and unapproachable principle, and his popularity is undiminished.  I have not heard, however, that he has given way to any more whims.

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