THE BRASS BOWL
started up, face aflame with indignation, forgetful of the girl hidden in the alcove.
"What the devil!" he cried hotly, jingling the handcuffs.
"Ah, come off," Hickey advised him. "Yeh can't bluff it for ever, you know. Come along and tell the sarge all about it, Daniel Maitland, Es-quire, alias Handsome Dan Anisty, gentleman burglar. … Ah, cut that out, young fellow; yeh'll find this ain't no laughin' matter. Yeh're foxy, all right, but yeh've pushed yer run of luck too hard."
Hickey paused, perplexed, finding no words wherewith adequately to voice the disgust aroused in him by his prisoner's demeanor, something far from seemly, to his mind.
The humor of the situation had just dawned upon Maitland, and the young man was crimson with appreciation.
"Go on, go on!" he begged feebly. "Don't let me stop you, Hickey. Don't, please, let me spoil it all. … Your Sherlock Holmes, Hickey, is one of the finest characterizations I have ever wit-
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