Havent’s diamonds?”

“Was dat——?”

“The thief,” said Jimmy, flicking a speck of dust from his coat-sleeve, “was discovered to have used an oxyacetylene blow-pipe.”

The rapturous intake of Spike’s breath was the only sound that broke the silence. Through the smoke his eyes could be seen slowly widening.

“But about this villa,” said Jimmy. “I am always interested even in the humblest sides of the profession. Now, tell me, supposing you were going to break into a villa, what time of night would you do it?”

“I always t’inks it’s best either late like dis or when de folks is in at supper,” said Spike respectfully.

Jimmy smiled a faint, patronizing smile, and nodded.

“Well, and what would you do?”

“I’d rubber around some to see isn’t dere a window open somewheres,” said Spike diffidently.

“And if there wasn’t?”

“I’d climb up de porch and into one of de bedrooms,” said Spike, almost blushing. He felt like a boy reading his first attempts at original poetry to an established critic. What would this master cracksman, this polished wielder of the oxyacetylene blow-pipe, this expert in toxicology, microscopy, and physics, think of his callow outpourings?

“How would you get into the bedroom?”

Spike hung his head.

“Bust de catch wit me jemmy,” he whispered shamefacedly.

“Burst the catch with your jemmy?”

“It’s de only way I ever learned,” pleaded Spike.

The expert was silent. He seemed to be thinking. The other watched his face humbly.

“How would youse do it, boss?” he ventured timidly, at last.

“Eh?”

“How would youse do it?”

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