for ever so long, you say? What makes you think it hadn't?"

"Dusty," says I.

"Oh!" says Vee. "Just fancy! And she must have given it to him
herself--an ivory miniature, you know. Was--was there another man, do
you think, or just some silly misunderstanding? I wonder?"

"I hadn't got in that deep," says I.

"But suppose it was," says Vee, "only a misunderstanding, wouldn't it be
lovely if we could find some way of--of--well, why don't you suggest
something?"

Did I? Say, we was plottin' so lively there for a spell, with our heads
close together, that I can't tell for a fact which it was did get the
idea first.

But, anyway, when I'm busy at the Corrugated next mornin', openin' the
first batch of mail and sortin' the junk from the important letters, I
laid the mine. All I had to do was pick out an envelope postmarked
Madison Square, ditch the art dealers' card that came in it, and
substitute this song recital folder, opened so the picture couldn't be
missed. And when I stacks the letters on Mr. Robert's desk I tucks that
one in second from the top. Some grand little strategy that, eh?

Then I keeps my ear stretched for any remarks Mr. Robert may unload when
he makes the great discovery. But, say, when you try dopin' out such a
complicated party as Mr. Bob Ellins you've tackled some deep
proposition. Nothin' emotional about him, and although I'm sittin' only
a dozen feet off, half facin' his way too, I don't get even the hint of
a smothered gasp. Couldn't even tell whether he'd seen the picture or
not, and by the time I works up an excuse to drift over by his elbow
he's halfway through the pile.

"Nothin' startlin' in the mornin' run, eh?" I throws out.

"Oh, yes," says he. "Mallory reports that those St. Louis people have
applied for another injunction. Ring up Bates, will you, and have him
call a general council of our legal staff for two-thirty?"

"Right," says I. "Er--anything else, Mr. Robert?"

He simply shakes his head and dives into another letter. At that,
though, I was lookin' for him to sound me out sooner or later on the
picture business; but the forenoon breezes by without a word. By
lunchtime I'm more twisted than ever. Had he glanced at the halftone
without recognizin' her? Or was he just keepin' mum? Not until I gets a
chance to explore the waste basket did I get any line. The folder wa'n't
there. Neither was it on his desk. And all the hints I threw out durin'
the day he don't seem to notic