Jim?”

“It would be a peach of an idea if you could do it, but can you?”

Taylor chuckled. It was plain he had some scheme in his crafty brain that pleased him more than a little.

“I’m going to answer that as soon as I’ve had a little confidential chat with Miss Cartwright.”

He broke off to turn to the doorway through which Gibbs’ head protruded.

“Can I see you now, Chief?” Gibbs asked.

“What is it?” Taylor snapped.

“There’s a deaf and dumb chicken out here,” Gibbs replied anxiously.

“A what?” the other demanded.

“A girl that can’t hear or speak or write. They say she’s smuggled a bracelet in but they’ve searched her eight times and can’t get a trace of it, so they sent her to you.”

“They don’t expect me to make the ninth attempt, do they?” the Chief queries.

“Why, no,” Gibbs told him, “but they thought you might hand her the third degree.”

“Bring her in,” the autocrat commanded. When Gibbs had closed the door Taylor turned to Duncan. “She’s probably bluffing. Put that chair here. We’ll try the gun gag on her. There’s a revolver in my second drawer. When I say ‘Go,’ you shoot. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, anticipating a theatrical scene in which his chief would shine as usual. Duncan always enjoyed such episodes; he felt he shone with reflected power.

Gibbs dragged in a young girl and stood her in front of the chair to which the Chief had beckoned. “Sit down,” Gibbs commanded. The afflicted woman who was named, so Gibbs said, Sarah Peabody, remained standing. “Hey, squattez-vous,” her captor commanded again in a louder voice. Still Sarah was unmoved. Gibbs scratched his head and summoned his linguistic attainments to his aid.

“Setzen sie,” he shouted, but Miss Peabody remained erect.

Gibbs turned away with a gesture of despairing dignity. “I’m done,” he asserted; 

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