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 I wondered, from time to time, exactly what was in that nice, new suit case under my feet. A few hundred thousand in neat, new bills, I thought; or possibly plates. Maybe both.

That suit case kept bothering my bean-business conscience. It was decidedly one matter to like Doris Wellington and wish her to stay out of the clutches of old "Iron Age"; but it was something quite up another street to take charge of that handbag full of cash and plates and deliver them at destination for her. Obviously, this was what she meant me to do.

The day was waning; and all lights were on as we drew into Toledo, where old "Iron Age" sent his sheaf of telegrams over to Western Union. He received a couple of yellow envelopes too. I saw him strolling on the platform, reading enclosures and watching the doors of the train. He was developing a more menacing look.

Neither Doris nor George got off; Felice did, flirting expertly with one of the clothing merchants. "All aboard." We were going again. Cleveland, the next stop.

In the observation car, I found "Iron Age" ponderously on duty beside Doris who was reading Harper's. A good touch that, I