y afternoon. If you don't mind, I'd like
to have you take charge of the affair, because you know just how to
handle thieves, and I don't. What say you?"

Anderson was ready and eager to agree to anything, but he hesitated a
long time before concluding to take supreme charge of the undertaking.
Mr. Gregory at once implored him to take command. It meant the success
of the venture; anything else meant failure.

"But how'n thunder am I to know the robbers when I see 'em?" demanded
the marshal, nervously pulling bluegrass up by the roots.

"You'll know 'em all right," said Andrew Gregory. Thursday came and with
it the "troupe." Anderson Crow had not slept for three nights, he was so
full of thrills and responsibility. Bright and early that morning he was
on the lookout for suspicious characters. Gregory was to meet the
detectives from New York at half-past seven in the evening. By previous
arrangement, these strangers were to congregate casually at Tinkletown
Inn, perfectly diguised as gentlemen, ready for instructions. The two
arch-plotters had carefully devised a plan of action. Gregory chuckled
secretly when he thought of the sensation Tinkletown was to
experience--and he thought of it often, too.

The leading members of Boothby's All Star Company "put up" at the Inn,
which was so humble that it staggered beneath this unaccustomed weight
of dignity. The beautiful Miss Marmaduke (in reality, Miss Cora Miller)
was there, and so were Miss Trevanian, Miss Gladys Fitzmaurice, Richmond
Barrett (privately Jackie Blake), Thomas J. Booth, Francisco Irving, Ben
Jefferson and others. The Inn was glorified. All Tinkletown looked upon
the despised old "eating house" with a reverence that was not reluctant.

The manager, a busy and preoccupied person, who looked to be the
lowliest hireling in the party, came to the Inn at noon and spread the
news that the reserved seats were sold out and there was promise of a
fine crowd. Whereupon there was rejoicing among the All Star Cast, for
the last legs of the enterprise were to be materially strengthened.

"We won't have to walk back home," announced Mr. Jackie Blake, that
good-looking young chap who played Orlando.

"Glorious Shakespeare, thou art come to life again," said Ben Jefferson,
a barn-stormer for fifty years. "I was beginning to think you were a
dead one."

"And no one will seize our trunks for board," added Miss Marmaduke
cheerfully. She was a very pretty young woman and des