oman!" I said to myself stupidly. "By all that's
ridiculous, a woman!"

Johnson was striking matches below and swearing softly to himself. "How
the devil do you get to the roof?" he called. "I think I've broken my
nose."

He found the ladder after a short search and stood at the bottom,
looking up at me. "Well, I suppose you haven't seen him?" he inquired.
"There are enough darned cubbyholes in this house to hide a patrol
wagon load of thieves." He lighted a fresh match. "Hello, here's another
door!"

By the sound of his diminishing footsteps I supposed it was a rear
staircase. He came up again in ten minutes or so, this time with the
policeman.

"He's gone, all right," he said ruefully. "If you'd been attending to
your business, Robison, you'd have watched the back door."

"I'm not twins." Robison was surly.

"Well," I broke in, as cheerfully as I could, "if you are through with
this jolly little affair, and can get down my ladder without having
my housekeeper ring the burglar alarm, I have some good Monongahela
whisky--eh?"

They came without a second invitation across the roof, and with them
safely away from the house I breathed more freely. Down in the den I
fulfilled my promise, which Johnson drank to the toast, "Coming through
the rye." He examined my gun rack with the eye of a connoisseur, and
even when he was about to go he cast a loving eye back at the weapons.

"Ever been in the army?" he inquired.

"No," I said with a bitterness that he noticed but failed to comprehend.
"I'm a chocolate cream soldier--you don't read Shaw, I suppose,
Johnson?"

"Never heard of him," the detective said indifferently. "Well, good
night, Mr. Blakeley. Much obliged." At the door he hesitated and
coughed.

"I suppose you understand, Mr. Blakeley," he said awkwardly, "that
this--er--surveillance is all in the day's work. I don't like it, but
it's duty. Every man to his duty, sir."

"Sometime when you are in an open mood, Johnson," I returned, "you can
explain why I am being watched at all."

CHAPTER XV. THE CINEMATOGRAPH

On Monday I went out for the first time. I did not go to the office. I
wanted to walk. I thought fresh air and exercise would drive away the
blue devils that had me by the throat. McKnight insisted on a long day
in his car, but I refused.

"I don't know why not," he said sulkily. "I can't walk. I haven't walked
two consecutive blocks in three years. Automobiles have made legs mere
orname