"Yes," said I. "One of the best in the business, I fancy."
"A big fellow?" She grinned with a queer smile.
"Oh, about your height," said I.
"Well, by the hopping Harcourt," she retorted, quizzically, "if you give them the slightest hint of my personal appearance, I'll come back and kill you. See?"
The man's very words! And then she laughed.
"What?" I cried. "It was—you!"
"Was it?" she returned, airily.
"Why the devil you should go to all that trouble, when you had the stuff right here is what puzzles me," said I.
"Oh, it wasn't any trouble," she replied. "Just sport—you looked so funny sitting up there in your pajamas; and, besides, a material fact such as that hold-up is apt to be more convincing to the police, to say nothing of the Constant-Scrappes, than any mere story we could invent."
"Well, you'd better be careful, Henriette," I said with a shiver. "The detectives are clever—"