"Why, that's" he began, but stopped short.
"Who is it?" she asked. "Really, I would like to know."
"If he's the man I think he is, I know him well," Murdong said. "I—perhaps he is a friend of yours?"
"Not in the least," she shook her head.
"He's White Collar Dan, one of the slickest thieves in the country," Murdong said. "I saw him at police headquarters in Chicago where they had him last winter for penny-weighting a jeweller"
"What is penny-weighting?"
"Why, generally speaking, it's substituting a paste for a diamond, or phony for a real goods ring, something like that. I remember, because I wrote an article about him. They couldn't prove it on him, though, and they had to let him go. He isn't here, is he? Perhaps I've talked too much."
"No, not at all. What did he look like?"
"Why, five feet ten, 160 pounds, black moustache, dark complexion, and brown eyes—nice-looking fellow, but slick. They say he's a strong-arm, too"
"Strong-arm?"
"Yes—hold up, or blackjacker."
"I wouldn't be surprised," the young woman admitted. "He looked it. You say you wrote about him? Are you a—a writer?"
"Eh?" Murdong ejaculated, and then glared at
