"D'you mean to say you got your stuff back?" he demanded of Wendy Washburn, staring at the club-bag.

My Hero-Man slowly moved his head up and down.

"But how'd you do it?" insisted the Lil' Old Bill-Pinkerton-of-The-East.

"I had the chance of grabbing Griswold, or the family junk, when Griswold passed the bag to a lady confederate of his."

"What confederate?" demanded Big Ben.

"She answers to the name of Third-Arm Annie. And I chose the junk!"

"That cat!" cried Copperhead Kate, with a quick note of jealousy in her voice. But I was paying little attention to Copperhead Kate's personal feelings, just then, for I was carefully watching Wendy Washburn's face, and Wendy Washburn was in turn carefully watching mine. For I knew, as plainly as though he had said it in so many words, that he had deliberately allowed Bud Griswold to make his get-away, when he might have done just the opposite, had he so chosen.

"And how'd you get Annie?" pursued the matter-of-fact Big Ben,

"I got her at the exact moment when she was