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 place. When Babbing took out a white silk handkerchief to polish his glasses and buried his nose in it before he replaced it in his pocket, Barney remembered. It was a bishop who had once graced the closing exercises of the parochial school by conferring the prizes. He had given Barney a “Lives of the Saints.”

“Now, young man,” Babbing said, “get off that uniform. I ’m going in to get a statement from your Mr. Cooper. If any one rings me up, take the number. If any of the men come in here, tell them where I am. I ’m registered as A. T. Hume. Wait here till I come back.” He had taken a small blue-metal “automatic” from his hip pocket and put it in the side pocket of his coat. He gathered up his notes and the dictionary. “Don’t make the mistake again of exceeding your instructions. You 've forced our hand, already.”

“Yes, sir,” Barney said, contritely. But the door had scarcely closed before he was capering. He did a sort of disrobing dance,