"Come across," he said, in low, cutting tones, "and don't get gay. I'm not after you--but you gotter help, see! I've traced this mantilla down to this shop. Now cough it up! If you've bought it on the level, I've got a roll here will square it up with you."

Otto gave a m.u.f.fled whistle. "Den dot fellow vas a tief, vas he? He didn't look like it, for sure. Vell--vell--vell--dot's funny! Vy, I vouldn't have tought dot. Look like a quiet man, and--"

"You remember the man, then?" interrupted the detective, following up his advantage, and again sc.r.a.ping his chin with his forefinger.

"Oh, yes. I don't forgot him. Vore a b.u.t.toned-up coat--high like up to his chin--"

"And a slouch-hat?" prompted Pickert.

"Yes, vun of dose soft hats, for I tink de light hurt his eyes ven he come close up to my desk ven I gif him de money."

"And had a sort of a catch-look, a kind of a slant in his eye, didn't he?" supplemented Pickert; "and was smooth-shaven and--on the whole--rather decent-looking chap, just getting on his uppers and not quite. Ain't that it?"

"Yes, maybe, I don't recklemember everyting about him. Vell--vell--ain't dot funny? But he vasn't a dead beat--no, I don't tink so. An' he stole it? You vud never tink dot to see him. I got it in my little office, behind dot part.i.tion, in a drawer. You come along. To-morrow is New Year's"--here he glanced up the stairs to be sure that Masie was out of hearing--"and I bought dat lace for a present for my little girl vat you saw joost now--she loves dem old tings. She has got more as a vardrobe full of dem. Vait till I untie it. Look! Ain't dot a good vun? And all I pay for it vas tventy tollars."

The detective loosened the folds, shook out the flounce, held it up to the light, and ran his thumb through the tear in the mesh.

"Of course dere's a hole--I buy him cheaper for dot hole--my little Beesving like it better for dot. If it vas new she vouldn't have it."

Pickert was now caressing the soft lace, his satisfaction complete. "A dead give-away," he said at last. "Much obliged. I'll take it along,"

and he began rolling it up.

"You take it--VAT?" exclaimed Otto.

"Well, of course, it's stolen goods."

Kling leaned over and caught it from his hand. "If it's stolen goods, somebody more as you must come in and tell me dot. By Jeminy, you have got a awful cheek to come in here and tell me dot! Ven I buy, I buy, and it is mine to keep. Ven I sell, I sell, and dot's n.o.body's business."

Pickert bit his lip. His bluff had failed. He must go about it in another way, if Rosenthal's customer, who owned the lace, was to regain possession before the New Year set in.

"Well, then, sell it to me," he snarled.

"No, I don't sell it to you. Not if you give me tventy times tventy tollars. And now you get out of here so k'vick as you can--or me and dot man over by dot sideboard and two more down-stairs vill trow you out! I don't care a tam how big a bra.s.s ting you got on your coat. So you dake it along vid you? Vell, you have got a cheek!"

Pickert's underlip curled in contempt. He had only to step to the door and blow a whistle were a row to begin. But that would neither help him to trail the thief nor to secure the mantilla.

"Now see here, Mr. Kling," he said, fingering the lapel of Otto's coat, "I've treated you white, now you treat me white. You make me tired with your hot air, and it don't go--see, not with me!--and now I'll put it to you straight. Will you sell me that mantilla? Here's the money"--and he pulled out a roll of bills.

Otto was now thoroughly angry. "NO!" he shouted, moving toward the door of his office.

"Will you help put me on to the man who sold it to you?"

"No!" roared Kling again, his Dutch blood at boiling-point. "I put you on noddin--dot's your bis'ness, dis puttin' on, not mine." He had walked out of the office and was beckoning to the tramp. "Here, you! You go down-stairs and tell Hans to come up k'vick--right avay."

The tramp slouched up--a sliding movement, led by his shoulder, his feet following.

"Maybe, boss, I kin help if you don't mind my crowdin' in." He had listened to the whole conversation and knew exactly what would happen if he carried out Kling's order. He had seen too many mix-ups in his time--most of them through resisting an officer in the discharge of his duty. Kling, the first thing he knew, would be wearing a pair of handcuffs, and he himself might lose his job.

He addressed the detective: "I saw the guy when he come in and I saw him when he went out. Mr. O'Day saw him, too, but he'd skipped afore he got on to his mug. He'll tell ye same as me."

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 n.o.body 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 d.a.m.ned 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?"

Pickert examined his finger-nails for a brief moment--one seemed in need of immediate repairs--his mind all the while in deep thought. The tramp might help or he might not. He evidently knew him, and it was possible that he also knew Stanton, the name borne by the woman charged with the theft; or the whole yarn might be a ruse to give the real thief a tip, and thus block everything. Lipton's place he frequented, and the Bowdoin House he could find.

"No, you stay here," he broke out. "I'll get him."

He walked back to the office, the tramp following. "I say, Mr. Kling!"

he called impudently.

Otto lifted his head. He had locked up the mantilla and had the key in his pocket. For him the incident was closed.

"Vell?" replied Otto dryly.