They were all seated in a fairly large but dingy old room, in which were several chairs, a rickety table and, against the wall, a roll-top desk on the top of which was a telephone.

Several crooks of the gang were sitting about, smoking.

“Now,” went on Clutching Hand, “I want you, Spike, to follow them.  See what they do—­where they go.  It’s her birthday.  Something’s bound to occur that will give you a lead.  All you’ve got to do is to use your head.  Get me?”

Spike rose, nodded, picked up his hat and coat and squirmed out on his mission, like the snake that he was.

. . . . . . . .

It was, as Clutching Hand had said, Elaine’s birthday.  She had received many callers and congratulations, innumerable costly and beautiful tokens of remembrance from her countless friends and admirers.  In the conservatory of the Dodge house Elaine, Aunt Josephine, and Susie Martin were sitting discussing not only the happy occasion, but, more, the many strange events of the past few weeks.

“Well,” cried a familiar voice behind them.  “What would a certain blonde young lady accept as a birthday present from her family lawyer?”

All three turned in surprise.

“Oh, Mr. Bennett,” cried Elaine.  “How you startled us!”

He laughed and repeated his question, adopting the tone that he had once used in the days when he had been more in favor with the pretty heiress, before the advent of Kennedy.

Elaine hesitated.  She was thinking not so much of his words as of Kennedy.  To them all, however, it seemed that she was unable to make up her mind what, in the wealth of her luxury, she would like.

Susie Martin had been wondering whether, now that Bennett was here, she were not de trop, and she looked at her wrist watch mechanically.  As she did so, an idea occurred to her.

“Why not one of these?” she cried impulsively, indicating the watch.  “Father has some beauties at the shop.”

“Oh, good,” exclaimed Elaine, “how sweet!”

She welcomed the suggestion, for she had been thinking that perhaps Bennett might be hinting too seriously at a solitaire.

“So that strikes your fancy?” he asked.  “Then let’s all go to the shop.  Miss Martin will personally conduct the tour, and we shall have our pick of the finest stock.”

A moment later the three young people went out and were quickly whirled off down the Avenue in the Dodge town car.

It was too gay a party to notice a sinister figure following them in a cab.  But as they entered the fashionable jewelry shop, Spike, who had alighted, walked slowly down the street.

Chatting with animation, the three moved over to the watch counter, while the crook, with a determination not to risk missing anything, entered the shop door, too.

“Mr. Thomas,” asked Susie as her father’s clerk bowed to them, “please show Miss Dodge the wrist watches father was telling about.”