“Look here, old sport,” said the banjo-player, “just let me have that, will you?”

He pointed toward the banjo.  Justin’s jaw dropped, and he raised his hands in horror.

“Let yer have that?  Holy Cats!  Why, Eb would skin me alive—­an’ you too—­if you was to play on that thing down here!”

“I don’t want to play on it,” replied the man, “but the strings will get damp, and break, out there.  Just let me have it in here, —­that’s a good fellow.  I can let the strings down a bit.  No good spoiling ’em.  I won’t play a note on it.  Honest Injun!”

“Sure about it?” asked Justin.

“Sure.  Honest, I won’t.”

“Well, all right, then.  Mind what yer promised, now!”

He took a key down from a hook under the lamp, unlocked the cell door, and passed in the banjo.  After locking the door with great care, and replacing the key on its hook, he bade us all good night, and went upstairs.

“Burglary?  Is that what the Czar has run you in for?” This from the stranger with the banjo.

“That is the crime with which we are charged.”

“Well, I must say you disappoint me.  I had always hoped for something better in the way of burglars.  I hope you won’t be offended but really, you know, you don’t look desperate enough.”

“It’s our first offence,” said Mr. Daddles.

“That’s what I thought,” said the stranger heartily, “but I didn’t like to say so,—­for fear of hurting your feelings.  Cheer up,—­ you’ll improve as time goes on.”

“Have you been here long?” I asked.

“Came in yesterday,—­or day before yesterday, rather.  We were in that black sloop,—­perhaps you noticed her?  You were in the white cat-boat, weren’t you?  We saw you when you came in.”

“Did you see her go out?”

We all asked this eagerly.

“No,—­has she gone out?  We were on board our boat all the afternoon,—­down in the cabin, I guess.  Wish I’d stayed there.  But we had the tent,—­one of the fellows likes to sleep on shore, and so we all stayed.  Say, this is a little bit of Russia, isn’t it?  Eb could give the Czar points.  This is a new police-station, and he thought it ought not get rusty.”

“Find your quarters comfortable over there?” asked Mr. Daddles across the corridor.

“Great!” said Ed Mason.  He had already taken off his coat, rolled it up for a pillow, and lain down on one of the wooden benches in our cell.  I was preparing to do the same.  Upstairs we heard the front door slam, as Justin, and the last of the “possy,” left the police-station.

“S-s-s-t!”

This came from the banjo-player’s cell.

“Watch this, boys!”

I looked out the barred door of our cell, and so did Mr. Daddles and Jimmy from theirs, on the other side of the corridor.  The banjo-player, holding his instrument by the head, was poking the neck of it through his door.  Very carefully he managed it, and I soon saw what he was after.  The big key, hanging on the wall under the lamp, was just within his reach.  With the utmost care he inserted one of the keys of the banjo in the ring of the cell key, and drew it off the hook.  Then holding the banjo very delicately he pulled it slowly inside the cell, until he had the key in his hands.  Then he grinned out at us.