a blaze under way, Mr. Magee came shivering from the other room and held out his hand.
"Mr. Cargan," he laughed, "you're a prince." He noted with interest that the mayor's broad shoes were mighty near two hundred thousand dollars.
While Mr. Magee drew on his clothes, the mayor and Max sat thoughtfully before the fire, the former with his pudgy hands folded over the vast expanse where no breakfast reposed. Mr. Magee explained to them that the holder of the sixth key had arrived.
"A handsome young lady," he remarked; "her name is Myra Thornhill."
"Old Henry Thornhill's daughter," reflected the mayor. "Well, seems I've sort of lost the habit of being surprised now. I tell you, Lou, we re breaking into the orchid division up here."
While Mr. Magee shaved in ice-cold water, another black mark against the Hermit of Baldpate he turned over in his mind the events of the night before. The vigil in the office, the pleading of the fair girl on the balcony, the battle by the steps, the sudden appearance of Miss Thorn-
