She looked me straight in the eyes, and I felt the blood coming into my face, for never in my life had I seen such eyes before. In my business we get the habit of taking in any peculiarity about a person at one glance, and I saw that this girl's eyes were tawny yellow around the pupils, then deepened gradually into a dark jade-green. Her hair was thick, almost black, rather curly but cut a bit short and drawn snugly down over her head and held by a gold band just above her ears so that the curls clustered around her neck.
"While introducing my friend," says Jeff, "I might add a few of his titles. He is also known as 'His Lordship,' 'Wall Street Frank,' 'Tide-Water Clam,' and 'The Swell.'"
"Ha!" says the Frenchman. "I have heard of you, camarade!" He stepped over and gave me his hand.
"Monsieur Maxeville," says Léontine, with a smile, "is also a celebrity. No doubt you have heard of 'Chu-Chu le Tondeur?'"
I had, of course, because my profession has its cracks as well as its cracksmen. The Pole I had never heard of, but they told me that his work was mostly executive, having an able gang under him to carry out his ideas. The girls were two of them "souris d'hôtel," literally "hotel mice," the French slang for second-story workers. Their game was to get a billet as governess or companion or something of the sort, locate jewels, money, or other valuables as well as the habits of the family, then give up the position and send some one to work the house.
