ound occasion
to put dangerous work in the hands of children.

"Hurt your thumb bad?" he asked.

Bubbles shook his head and plunged into his story. Now and then the
German laughed, but the red-haired, pug-nosed Jew appeared to sink
deeper and deeper into his own thoughts, only showing by an occasional
question that he was following the boy's narrative. Bubbles wished to
dwell at length and with comment upon the use of the passage for
disposing of dead bodies, but to Mr. Lichtenstein this appeared to be
merely a natural by-product of its construction.

"It wasn't dug for that," he said. "How big is the main excavation?"

[Illustration: "I want me thumb bandaged"]

"'Bout as big as a small East Side dance-hall."

Mr. Liechtenstein turned to the German. "Hold a lot of loot--what?"

"I bet me," said the German, and washed his hands with air.

"Lot o' what?" asked Bubbles.

"Loot--gold, silver, jewels, bullion."

"Your ideas," said the German, "is all idiot. No mans is such a darn
fool as to think he can get away by such a business--no mans, that is,
but is crazy."

"Blizzard is crazy," said Mr. Lichtenstein simply. "It wasn't until we
hit on that hypothesis that we made any progress. Bubbles, did you ever
hear of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew?"

"Sure," said Bubbles, "they shot him full of arrows."

"That was Saint Sebastian," corrected the Jew. "Now listen, this is
history. On the night of August 24, 1572, two thousand men,
distinguished from other men by white cockades in their hats, on the
order of a crazy man, at the tolling of a bell, drew their swords,
murdered everybody in a great city who opposed their leaders, and made
themselves absolute masters of the place. What two thousand men did in
Paris during the Middle Ages, ten thousand men acting in concert could
do in New York to-day. If a man rose up with the power to command such a
following, with the ability to keep his plans absolutely secret, with
the genius to make plans in which there were no flaws, he could loot
Maiden Lane, the Sub-Treasury, Tiffany's, the Metropolitan Museum--_and
get away with it_."

Mr. Lichtenstein's small eyes glittered. He was visibly excited. And so
was Mr. Blicker.

"He will loot the Metropolitan Museum," said this one, "but what will he
do with the metropolitan police?"

"Well," said Mr. Lichtenstein, "I am only supposing. But suppose some
fine night a building somewhere central was blown up with dynamite.
Sup