THE MAN IN THE MIRROR.
The foremost of the intruders was the dapper detective, Brennen, and, as he recognized him, Barry scowled.
"So it's you, is it?" he said shortly.
The fellow grinned. "It sure is!" he chuckled. "Mighty nice of you to trot down here and save me the trouble of hunting you up."
Lawrence stared at him blankly. "What the mischief do you mean?" he demanded. "You don't mean to say you wanted me here?"
Brennen nodded blithely. "Of course. Aren't you on yet? That's what we've been after right along. That's why we had to put the lady here to a little inconvenience. Hated to do it, of course, but were afraid you——"
His companion, the tall, dark, urbane person Barry had passed in the hall below, plucked Brennen by the arm and whispered a few words in his ear.
"What's the odds?" the detective returned briskly. "The big fellow's due any minute, and then it'll all come out. You see," he went on, turning again to Lawrence, "it looked to us like you'd get wise and might make a sneak any minute. We couldn't allow that, of course, so we took the only way which was left us, and, by a polite little fiction, induced your wife——"
"That'll do!" cried Barry, his eyes flashing. "I don't understand a word you're saying; but I know this much: if you can't keep this lady out of the conversation, I'll take great pleasure in silencing you. She is not my wife, and your behavior in dragging her into this affair has been simply despicable."
The detective shrugged his shoulders incredulously. "Suit yourself," he returned blandly. He hesitated a moment, and then went on, with twinkling eyes: "Hope your friend don't get tired hunting a cop."