Part 50 (1/2)

”Wait a minute,” Taylor said irritably. ”What's all this got to do with you? I admit we made a mistake--I'll take the blame for it--and we're sorry. We can't remedy it by talking any more. Come on, boys.”

”Wait just a minute,” Denby exclaimed. ”Don't you know,” he went on, addressing himself to the two subordinate officials, ”that it's rather a dangerous thing to monkey with the United States Government? It's a pretty big thing to fool with. You might have got into serious trouble arresting the wrong man.”

”I haven't been monkeying with the Government,” Gibbs said nervously.

All his official carelessness recurred to him vividly. ”I wouldn't do a thing like that.”

”Neither have I,” Duncan made eager reply.

Taylor took a hand in the conversation. ”That's all settled,” he said, with an air of finality. ”We all know Mr. Denby never had a necklace.”

”That's clearly understood, is it?” Denby returned.

”What I say is right,” Taylor retorted, and glared at his underlings.

”What the Chief says is right,” Gibbs admitted with eagerness.

”What the Chief says is wrong,” Denby cried in a different voice. ”I did smuggle a necklace in through the Customs to-day. Here it is.”

They looked at it in consternation. ”What!” they e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

Taylor had owed his safety ere this to rapid thinking.

”Then you're under arrest!” he cried.

”Oh, no I'm not,” Denby rejoined, turning to the startled men. ”Your chief caught me with the goods and I paid him thirty thousand dollars to square it.”

Taylor came at him with upraised fist. ”Why, you--” he roared, ”I'll--”

Denby seized the clenched fist and thrust it aside. ”You won't,” he said calmly; ”you're only a bully after all, Taylor. You couldn't graft on your own--you had to drag a girl into it, and you've made me do some pretty rotten things to-night to land you. I've had to make that girl suffer, but you'll pay for it. I've got you now, and you're under arrest.”

”Aw, quit your bluffing,” Taylor jeered; ”you can't arrest me, Denby.”

”The man who'll arrest you is named Jones,” Denby remarked.

”Who the h.e.l.l is he?” Taylor cried.

”Ah, yes,” Denby admitted. ”I forgot that you hadn't met him officially and that the boys don't know who he is either. Here's my commission.”

Gibbs stared at the doc.u.ment ravenously. ”And that's my photograph,”

Denby added. ”A pretty good likeness it's usually considered.”

Duncan was now at his comrade's side, poring over it. ”It sure is,” he agreed.

”This thing,” said Gibbs the discoverer, ”is made out in the name of Richard Jones!”

”Well, do you get the initials?” Denby queried.

”R. J.,” Gibbs read out as one might mystic things without meaning.

”That's me,” Denby smiled, ”R. J. of the secret service. That's the name I'm known by.”