CHAPTER XLI.

THE ESCAPE.

While he had not the slightest notion where the picture expert had

managed to conceal himself during his own enforced absence from the

scene of the chase, Travers Gladwin was confident that the man was

capable of outwitting an army of the sort of man-hunters who were

swarming within and without the aristocratic premises.

When he caught sight of Whitney Barnes and Sadie in a tender confab

that was just about to frond out into the full foliage of a romantic

climax, it was on his tongue to bid them carry their hearts upstairs

and string them together in a more secluded spot. They beat him to his

own suggestion, and were gone before he could utter a syllable.

He had the great drawing room and picture gallery to himself and was

scanning every corner of it when a voice punctuated the silence.

"Ah, Mr. Gladwin!"

The young man turned quickly and saw what he at first mistook for a

uniformed constable emerge from the portières that screened the

window.

"Well, if it isn't"--he began in gaping surprise.

"Murphy, sorr, only a tighter fit." Wilson stepped through the

curtains twirling his club.

"So you are 666 now, eh?" Gladwin blurted. "And Phelan"----

"The gentleman who belongs in this tight-fitting frock? Oh, he's still

about."

"And you managed to bribe him?"

"Not exactly that, Mr. Gladwin--say I persuaded him."

"My hat is off to you again," exclaimed the young man, "but don't

waste any time. You can get away easily in that uniform--quick, and

good luck."

"I never hurry in these cases," returned the thief, with an air of

calm indifference. "You see, I have an idea that the Captain and

Kearney are waiting for me at the front door, for they made a loud

declaration that they were going to search the cellar. I have had

similar experiences, my young friend."

"But they won't leave the front door, and they may burst in here at

any moment," protested Gladwin.

"But they will leave the front door when I want them to," said the

other, softly.

"By jove, you're a wonderful chap!"

"I've got to be to keep out of jail."

"It's a shame that you misdirect your energies and genius," said the

young man, earnestly.

"But you must acknowledge that I work hard for what I get."

"Yes, I do."

"And I really love pictures."

"For themselves?"

"H'm, yes--for themselves."

Travers Gladwin stood frowning at the floor for a moment, then looked

up quickly.

"See here, then--you've worked mighty hard for my pictures and I'm

going to give you a few of the best of them. Here!" And Gladwin

stepped over to the corner of the room where the trunk had been

dropped and picked up a bundle of canvases.

The picture expert wore a broad grin as the young man came toward him.

He waved aside the proffered bundle and said:

"Those are not the best of them. Just a minute."

He reached behind him and pulled down from under his belted coat a

similar carefully rolled bundle.

"These are the gems of your collection," he said grimly, offering the

slim roll of canvases. "I can't keep them now--you've been too white

about this whole thing. I couldn't even accept 'The Blue Boy.'"

Gladwin refused to accept the paintings and the thief laid them down

on the table. Stepping closer to the young man, he bent down and said

low and earnestly:

"When a man goes wrong, Gladwin, and the going leans against the lines

of least resistance, it's easier to keep on going than to stop and

switch off into the hard and narrow path. He is always hoping that

something will take hold of him and set him right, and that hope

usually involves a woman.

"I've been dreaming lately that I wanted something to set me going in

the right direction, but it seems that you have beaten me to that, or

are on the fair road to do it. The trouble is that I have forgotten

how to go about a clean thing cleanly."

"I'm mighty sorry, but"----Gladwin started.

"But you're also mighty glad."

"I shall always remember you, Wilson, and here's my hand on it that I

shall always be willing to help you up and out of the--the"----

"The muck!" supplied the thief, accepting Gladwin's hand and gripping

it.

"However, we are wasting time and keeping the ladies up till an

unconscionable hour. If you will get your little Jap down here without

making a noise about it, I can use him and bid you good-night."

Gladwin went warily out into the hallway, reconnoitered the front door

and vestibule, then went to the stairway and uttered a short, sharp

whistle. Bateato came down as if on winged feet and halted as if

turned to stone between the big man in the uniform of Officer 666 and

his master.

"Come here," said Wilson, and plucked the Jap by the arm.

Bateato trembled with apprehension.

"Would you like to catch the thief?" the picture expert asked him.

"Ees, sair."

Bateato looked at his master, who nodded reassuringly.

"Well, the thief is in your master's room," said Wilson, impressively.

"Go up there and bang on the door--take that poker out of the

fireplace and make all the noise you can. Do you understand me?"

"Ees, sair," and Bateato's long lost grin returned. "I make bang,

bang."

"Yes, and yell, 'Police--quick, quick, quick--catch thief.'"

"Ees, sair, big much pleece come and tief run. Bateato run too and

pleece find all empty."

"Good--hurry!" and Wilson gave the Jap an unnecessary push toward the

fireplace, for the little Oriental fairly flew on his errand.

A moment later there burst upon the stillness of the mansion a

frightful uproar. The noise was distinctly audible in the street, as

Wilson had slipped to the door and opened it, then concealed himself

behind a curtain.

It was only a matter of seconds before Captain Stone, Kearney and the

entire outside patrol rushed in and piled up the stairs.

Travers Gladwin had not stirred from where he stood in the drawing-room

when Bateato got his instructions. He was intensely excited and feared

that some slip might spoil this inspired plan.

"Good-by," came a muffled hail from the hallway. Then there was

silence both within and without.

"Gad, I hope he makes it!" cried the young man and rushed to the

window. He had hardly reached there when the stillness was punctured

by a crash of shifting gears and the racket of a sixty horsepower

engine thrown into sudden, furious action.

"He's gone!" Gladwin breathed, as he saw a touring car hurl itself

athwart his vision. He recognized his former servant, Watkins, at the

wheel.