Corrigan, the big inspector, clapped him on the shoulders, calling him a
little general; and Davis almost wrung his hand off. Even the silent Mr.
Norcross announced he was a son to be proud of. As for Mr. Burton,
Senior--well, he merely settled back into his office chair and beamed
about him.

"I made no mistake when I christened that boy Christopher Mark Antony
Burton, fourth," announced he, as if every whit of responsibility for
the boy's good judgment were traceable to his name. "He has the stuff in
him--has had since babyhood."

But Mr. Inspector did not wholly agree.

"You've got to do more than have good blood in your veins," he asserted,
with a hint of scorn. "The young one used his brains, he did, and used
'em quick without thanks to his ancestors. Had he loitered about and
depended on his great-grandfather, Stuart would have got away."

There was a general laugh, in which even Mr. Burton, chagrined though he
was, joined.

Afterward the two police officers, Christopher, his father, Mr.
Rhinehart, and Hollings rolled away to headquarters to identify the
captured diamond thief.

CHAPTER IX

CHRISTOPHER RECOGNIZES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

Yes, it was Stuart! There could be no possible doubt about that; nor,
indeed, did the culprit attempt to deny his identity. Perhaps he
realized that to do so would be futile. There he was in his wig,
whiskers, glasses, ulster, and slouch hat; and the next moment, presto,
valeted by Mr. Inspector, there he was in his fur coat--the elegant
gentleman who had invaded Burton and Norcross' jewelry store!

Hollings recognized him in a twinkling and without a shade of hesitation
singled him out from twelve other men; so, also, did Mr. Rhinehart and
Christopher.

Poor Stuart! He was too genuine a sport to whine when he saw the game
was up. On the contrary he assumed a good-natured, almost humorous
stoicism, as if his capture were nothing more than a feature of the
day's work. Only one fact regarding it did he appear to resent and that
was that a person wary as himself should have been tracked down and
trapped by a mere boy. Incontestably this wounded his pride.
Nevertheless he tried valiantly to conceal his chagrin, maintaining
throughout the ordeal of identification his jaunty pose and saluting
Christopher, whom he instantly remembered having seen on the car, with
a mocking bow and a smile of admiration.

"It was a neat trick you played me, youngster," announced he, as