“Poor Van Cleft!  He’s besieged by blackmailers, who threaten to lay bare his father’s extravagant innuendos, unless he pays fifty thousand dollars.  He can afford it, but as he says, it’s war times and money is scarce as brunette chorus girls.  He has put the matter before the District Attorney and is going to sail for Far Cathay until they round up the gang.  These criminals are so clumsy nowadays, I imagine it will be an easy task, don’t you, Warren?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed to black slits as he studied the childlike expression of Shirley’s face.  He wondered if there could be a covert threat in this innocent confidence.  He answered laconically:  “Oh, I suppose so.  We read about crooks in the magazines and then see their capers in the motion picture thrillers, but down in real life, we find them a sordid, unimaginative lot of rogues.”

He proffered Shirley a cigarette from his jeweled case.  As he leaned toward the table to draw a match from the small bronze holder, Helene observed Shirley deftly substitute it for one of his own, secreting the first.

“Yes,” continued Shirley, “the criminal who is caught generally loses his game because he is mechanical and ungifted with talent.  But think of the criminals who have yet to be captured—­the brilliant, the inspired ones, the chess-players of wickedness who love their game and play it with the finesse of experts.”

Shirley smoothed away the ripple of suspicion which he had mischievously aroused with, “So, that is why fellows like us would not bother with the life.  The same physical and intellectual effort expended by a criminal genius would bring him money and power with no clutching legal hand to fear.  But there, we’re getting morbid.  What I really want to do is to satisfy my vanity.  Where did Miss Marigold disappear?”

“Talking about me?” and Helene opened her eyes languorously.  “I was so tired waiting for you that when Mr. Warren came along in his wonderful new car I yielded to his invitation, so we enjoyed that tea-room trip which you had promised.  Such a lark!  Then we came up here where I had the most wonderful dinner with him and three girls.  I was tired and sleepy, so I dozed away on that library davenport until the party began—­and there you are and here I are, and so, forgive me, Monty?”

She slipped nimbly to the floor, with a maddening display of a silken ankle, advancing to the criminologist with a wistful playfulness which brought a flush of sudden feeling, to the face of Reginald Warren.  Helene was carrying out his directions to the letter, Shirley observed.

They lingered at Warren’s festivities until a wee sma’ hour, Helene pretending to share the conviviality, while actually maintaining a hawk-like watch upon the two conspirators as she now felt them to be.  She was amused by the frequency with which Shine Taylor and Reginald Warren plied their guest with cigarettes:  Shirley’s legerdemain in substituting them was worthy of the vaudeville stage.