had a lifelong
acquaintance with criminals of the meaner sort, and had spent no small
amount of his time in police courts, securing evidence as to the virtue
of his proteges. "If he doesn't get ten years I'm a Dutchman."

"What does Phillopolis say?"

"He swears that the goods were not in his flat when he went out that
night," he said, "but if they were planted, the work was done
thoroughly. The detectives found jewel cases under cushions, hidden in
cupboards, on the tops of shelves, and one of the best bits of swag--a
wonderful diamond necklace--was discovered in his boot, at the bottom of
his trunk."

The conversation took place in the Green Park, which was a favourite
haunt of the colonel's. He loved to sit on a chair by the side of the
lake, watching the children sailing their boats and the ducks mothering
their broods. He was silent. His eyes were bent upon the efforts of a
small boy to bring a little waterlogged boat to a level keel and
apparently he had no other interest.

"Have a cigar, Selby," he said at last. "What is the news in your part
of the world?"

Selby was carefully biting off the end of his gift.

"Nothing much," he said. "We got some letters the other day from Mrs.
Crombie-Brail. Her son has got into trouble at the Cape. Lew Litchfield
got them. He was doing a job in Manchester."

Lew Litchfield was a bright young burglar of whom the colonel had heard,
and he knew the kind of "job" on which Lew was engaged.

"You bought 'em?" he asked.

"I gave a tenner for them," said Selby. "I don't think they're much
use."

The colonel shook his head.

"That's not the kind of letter that brings in money," he said. "You
can't bleed a mother because her son got into trouble--at least, not for
more than a hundred."

"Letters have been scarce lately," said his agent disconsolately; "I
think people have either given up keeping or writing them."

"Maybe," said the colonel. "Anyway, I didn't bring you down to talk
about letters. I've work for you."

Selby looked uneasy, and that in itself was a discouraging sign. Usually
the little crook from the north hailed a job of any kind with
enthusiasm.

It was an unmistakable proof to the colonel that he was losing grip,
that the magic of his name and all that it implied in the way of
protection from punishment, was less than it had been.

"You don't seem very pleased," he said.

Selby forced a smile.

"Well, colonel," he said, "I've a feeling they're af