while the agent whistled for help. It doesn't take long to draw a crowd at any moment of the day or night in Paris and while I was waiting there in the hands of four or five cops in the middle of a gang that wanted to lynch me, the iron door opened and out came the master of the house. He pushed through the crowd and took a look at my face under the glare of the street lamp.
My mask had been torn off in the scuffle and as his eyes rested on me I saw that he was struck by the same likeness which had saved his life a few minutes before.
"I'm glad you're not hurt," said I.
"Who the devil are you?" he asked, staring at me.
"A captured burglar," I answered.
"But who are you?" he insisted. "You don't look like a burglar."
"Come around to the station in the morning and I'll tell you," I answered. "We don't want to make a family scandal here in the street."
"What the deuce are you talking about?" he demanded.
"Oh, come around in the morning if you're so interested," I answered, and not very steadily for my arm was giving me the devil, particularly as one of the cops was swinging to it. Besides, I had lost a good bit of blood. Then, things began to spin and I heard him asking questions of the agents and that's the last that I knew until I came around a little later and found myself in a cell with a young chap who seemed to be a surgeon bending over me.
