“You have a brave little man, here, Cushman.  Chen heard this burglar in my room, and tried to capture him at the risk of his own life.  He deserves promotion and a raise in salary.  Go downstairs and call the police.  We’ll have this fellow locked up!”

The man glared at Shirley, and rubbed his throat which throbbed from the vice-like grip of the jiu-jitsu.  Chen still breathed hard and his almond eyes rolled nervously.  At last he was quiet again, although the slender fingers twitched hungrily for a clawing of that dirty neck.  Shirley patted him on the back.  Judgment had come to another of the gangsters, and the criminologist was pleased at the diminution in the ranks of his opponent.

An examination of his cabinet and dresser drawers showed that the pillaging had barely begun when Chen popped out of his hiding-place.  It was no wonder that Warren had been so solicitous as to the speeding time:  intuition had once more intervened to interrupt these well-laid schemes.

The little Jap could tell barely more of his adventure than that he had opened the door when he heard men walking and talking in the room.  Then the struggle had ensued, with the result already described.

Now, indeed, was Shirley more puzzled than ever at Warren’s sudden departure.  It had upset the plans of the conspirators:  it was an unwelcome surprise to their Chief.  And furthermore it had interfered with a little scheme of the criminologist by which he had expected to craftily imprison his guest for the remainder of the night.

The room was put in order—­not much was there to rearrange, for the tussle had come so promptly.  With a final look at his belongings, Shirley left Chen in charge, not forgetting to slip to him another reward for his courage.

Then he went downstairs and hurried over to the Hotel California to hold a conference of war with Helene Marigold.

She was nervous, as she greeted him.  Yet a subtle smile on her face showed that she was not surprised by the visit.  Shirley quickly outlined the occurrences of the dinner hour.  When he asked her opinion, for he had learned to place a growing trust in her quick grasp of things, she walked silently to her typewriter.

“Here, sir, is a little note which may amuse you.”

She handed him a piece of paper.  It read: 

“Chief:  The Monk has turned up at the Blue Goose on Water Street.  He is drunk and telling all he knows.  Come down at once to help us quiet him.  Hurry or every thing will be known.  You know who.”

Shirley looked at the message, and then with tilted eyebrows at his fair companion.

“What do you know about the Blue Goose?” he asked.  “And the Monk?  For I presume that you wrote this out?”

“Your presumption is correct.  I remembered hearing Warren ask Taylor this afternoon after that telephone call from you, where the Blue Goose saloon could be.  Taylor told him it was a sailor’s dive on Water Street.  The night they thought me dreaming on his library couch, I heard Taylor ask Warren if they had heard from the Monk.  So, it seemed to me that the two questions might interest Mr. Reginald Warren if presented in a language that he understood.”