not to run risks. Detectives
rarely handcuff their prisoners unless travelling. It is conspicuous and
unnecessary.

"Now we're more comfortable," said Foyle, sinking into the cushions of
the car. "If you want to give any explanation before I formally charge
you, you may. Only don't forget that anything you say may be used in
evidence against you."

"Is it an offence to go to a fancy-dress ball in a police officer's
uniform?" asked the prisoner. "Because if it is, I shall plead guilty."

"You can make that defence if you like--if you think it will be
believed," retorted Foyle. "It will be better for every one if you tell
the truth, though."

The man lapsed into a surly, sullen silence, and the superintendent
could feel that he was glaring at him in the darkness of the closed car.
The other detective looked through the window.

"Here comes Mr. Green, sir."

Arm in arm and in amicable converse with Ike, the chief
detective-inspector was approaching the car, with the chauffeur on the
other side. Ike, it appeared, had been run to earth in the dining-room,
and had surrendered at discretion. He had all the philosophy of the
habitual thief who knows when the game is up. He grinned a little when
he saw the handcuffed policeman in the car.

"Why, it's you, Mr. Smith! Didn't you think I could be trusted for fair
does over the stuff inside? You've fallen into it this time, and no
blooming error. Where's Fred?"

"Fred who?" queried Foyle. "Is there some one else in this job?"

But Red Ike was too old a bird to be deceived. Instinct, as well as
reason, told him that he had been betrayed, and the absence of Fred but
lent fuel to his suspicions.

"Aw--don't come it, Mr. Foyle," he said disgustedly, and added a
picturesque flow of language, elaborating the steps he would take to get
even with Dutch Fred when he had the opportunity. Not one of the
detectives interrupted him. The more he talked the better, for he might
drop something of value. Not until they drew up at the police station
did his eloquence desert him. The superintendent descended first and
gave a few instructions, while the _soi-disant_ constable was taken to
the cells. Ike found himself escorted upstairs into the C.I.D. office.
Only Heldon Foyle and Green remained with him.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," said the superintendent
cheerfully. "We want to have a little talk with you, Ike. Would you like
a drink? Here, have a cigar."

Red Ike's swif