tective, scanning the circumference of
Otto's fat body. "But I'm not buying any tables to-day, I'm on another
lead--that is, if I've got it right and your name is Kling."

"Yes, you got it right," answered Otto; "dot's my name. Vat is it you
vant?"

"And you own this store?"

"And I own dis store. Didn't you see de sign ven you come in?" The man's
manner and cock-sure air were beginning to nettle him.

"I might, and then again, I mightn't," Pickert retorted, relaxing into
his usual swaggering tone. "I'm not looking for signs. I'm looking for a
piece of lace, a mantilla they call it, that disappeared a few days ago
from Rosenthal's up here on Third Avenue--a kind of shawl with a frill
around it--and I thought you might have run across it."

Otto looked at him over the tops of his glasses, his anger increasing as
he noticed the man's scowl of suspicion. "Oh, dot's it, is it? Dot's vat
you come for. You tink I am a fence, eh?"

The detective grinned derisively. "You bought a piece of lace, didn't
you?"

"I buy a dozen pieces maybe--vot's dot your business?"

"My business will come later. What I want to know is whether you've got
a piece with a hole in it--black, soft, and squashy--with a frill--a
flounce, they call it--and I want to tell you right here that it will
be a good deal better if you keep a decent tongue in your head and stop
puttin' on lugs. It's business with me."

Masie had crept up and stood listening, wondering at the stranger's
rough way of talking. So had the tramp, whom Kitty had loaned to Otto
for a few hours to help move some of the heavier furniture. He seemed to
be especially interested in what was taking place, for he kept edging up
the closer, dusting the Colonial sideboard close to which Kling and the
man were standing, his ears stretched to their utmost, in order to miss
no word of the interview.

"Vell, if it's business, and you don't mean noddin, dot's anudder ting,"
replied Kling, in a milder tone, "maybe den I tell you. Run avay,
Masie, I got someting private to say. Dot's right. You go talk to Mrs.
Gossburger--Yes," he added, as the child disappeared, "I did buy a big
lace shawl like dot."

Pickert's grin covered half his face. He could get along now without a
search-warrant. "And have you got it now?"

"Yes, I got it now."

The grin broadened--the triumphant grin of a boy when he hears the click
of a trap and knows the quarry is inside.

"Can I see it?"

"No, you can't se