"Ain't this guy straight?" demanded O'Flaherty, turning upon Stuyvesant. "If he's been double-crossing us—"
"I shall report you to the Commissioner of Police," cried Stuyvesant, retreating a step or two as the gate gave signs of yielding. "He is a friend of mine."
"He is a friend of Mr. McFaddan's also," said O'Flaherty, scratching his head dubiously. "I guess you'll have to explain, young feller."
"Ask him to explain," insisted Stuyvie.
"Permit me," interposed Cricklewick, in an agitated voice. "This is a private little fancy dress party. We—"
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Stuyvesant, coming closer to a real American being than he had ever been before in all his life. "It's old Cricklewick! Why, you old roué!"
"I—I—let me help you, McFaddan," cried Cricklewick suddenly. "If we all put our strength to the bally thing, it may give way. Now! All together!"
Julia came scuttling down the steps.
"Be quiet!" she cried, tensely. "Whatever are we to do? She's coming down—they're both coming down. They are going over to the Ritz for supper. The best man is giving a party. Oh, my soul! Can't you do anything, McFaddan?"
"Not until you unlock the gate," groaned McFaddan, perspiring freely.
"There she is!" cried Stuyvesant, pointing up the stairs. "Now, will you believe me?"
"Get out of sight, you!" whispered McFaddan vio-
