When Jachin Fell returned and lighted his cigar he sank into one of the luxurious chairs beside Ansley and indicated the newspaper lying across the latter's knee, its flaring headlines standing out blackly.
"What's that about the Midnight Masquer? He's not appeared again?"
"What?" Ansley glanced at him in surprise. "You've not heard?"
Fell shook his head. "I seldom read the papers."
"Good heavens, man! He showed up last night at the Lapeyrouse dance, two minutes before midnight, as usual! A detective had been engaged, but was afterward found locked in a closet, bound with his own handcuffs. The Masquer wore his usual costume—and went through the party famously, stripping everyone in sight. Then he backed through the doors and vanished. How he got in they can't imagine; where he went they can't imagine, unless it was by airplane. He simply appeared, then vanished!"
Fell settled deeper into his chair, pointed his cigar at the ceiling, and sighed.
"Ah, most interesting! The loot was valued at about a hundred thousand?"
"I thought you said you'd not heard of it?" demanded Ansley.
Fell laughed softly and shyly. "I didn't. I merely hazarded a guess."
"Wizard!" The doctor laughed in unison. "Yes, about that amount. Exaggerated, of course; still, there were jewels of great value——"