“Yes. His name is Dorson. He will accompany both Mrs. Thurlow and her daughter, and we can identify them when they arrive.”
“And our work must begin at that moment.”
“Exactly. Naturally, of course, Dorson will pay considerable attention to Mrs. Thurlow, and I don’t think his presence will deter the crooks, for I have directed her to say nothing to him about expecting a crime. There is no occasion for any one to suspect him, of course, even though he is with her much of the time.”
The detective added the last while they were about to leave. It was a perfectly natural supposition, of course, that the man of whom he was speaking was entirely trustworthy. He did not have a thought to the contrary, and, therefore, he could not foresee the fatal result of this misplaced confidence in Mr. John Dorson.
It was a brilliant scene upon which the two detectives arrived soon after eight o’clock, which they knew would be sufficiently early. The streets adjoining the park in which the handsome new armory building was situated, in the vast hall and drill room, on the second floor of which the ball was to be held, were crowded with costly, brightly lighted automobiles of nearly every type, leaving as rapidly as possible a throng of fashionably clad men and elaborately gowned women, many lavishly adorned with radiant gems and jewels.
Fortune favored the detectives at first. They had been waiting only a few minutes in the broad reception hall on the ground floor, when Carter saw Mrs. Thurlow and Edna arrive in company with a tall, somewhat cadaverous man, who he knew must be Mr. John Dorson.
“There they are, Chick,” he said quietly. “The woman has not weakened. She is doing her part, indeed, to help us nail our man. She is wearing the rope of pearls.”
“Some pearls, too,” Chick muttered admiringly. “By Jove! they warrant taking a desperate chance. That tall fellow is Dorson, I suppose.”
“Surely.”
“He’s not very attractive. He has the look of a rounder.”