“I am selfish—­I will have a little supper party by myself, and spare you in nothing.  I want you to eat, to drink, to pour wine, to take out your wallet, to walk, to sit down, to laugh, to scold!  You have a task, sir:  I will imitate you move by move!  This is a rare experiment.”

“Great Scott!  Which is you?” cried Holloway who entered with the burdened waiter.

“Neither.  We’re both me!” chuckled the criminologist.  “But let me introduce you to my twin—­”

The two men exchanged formalities with an undercurrent of dislike.  Shirley lost no time.  He compelled the old man to run through his paces, as Holloway criticized each study in miming.  Just as the capitalist would swing his arms, limp with his left leg, shift his head ever so little, from side to side in his walk, so Shirley copied him.  A word here, an exhortation there, and Shirley improved steadily under Holloway’s analytical direction.  At last the lesson was ended, with the manager’s pronounciamento of “graduation cum lauda.”

“I’ll have to star you, Monty,” he declared, as Shirley put on the fur greatcoat of the old man, grasping the gold headed cane, and drooping his shoulders in a perfect imitation of the other’s attitude.

“Perhaps it will be necessary.  The chorus men have invaded society with their fox-trots and maxixe steps.  We club men will have to countercharge the enemy, for self-preservation, to play heavy villains upon the stage.  Eh?”

He turned toward Grimsby, who was well wearied with the trying ordeal, and evidencing a growing nervousness about his own escape.

“You know how to leave, according to my plan?  Wrap the muffler well around the lower part of your face, button this second overcoat closely about your neck, and enter the private carriage which I ordered for ‘Mr. Lee,’ waiting now at the Forty-fifth Street Side.  Then drive leisurely to the West Forty-second Street Ferry, where you can catch the late afternoon train for your country place.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Shirley.  I have been an old curmudgeon with you, I fear.  You have taught this old dog new tricks in several ways, young man.  Neither I nor my friends will forget your bravery.  They are all out of the city by now, according to word from my private secretary.  Your field is clear.  Good luck, sir!”

Shirley and Holloway left the rooms first.  Neither addressed the other on the lift, as it descended to the street level.  Holloway casually followed Monty as he stiffly walked to the big red limousine waiting at the Forty-fourth Street entrance of the hostelry.  The chauffeur sprang out, opening the door with a respectful salute.  The disguise was successful!

“Home!” grunted Shirley, sinking back into the car, with collar high about his neck and the soft hat half concealing his eyes.  He scrutinized the faces of the passers-by, photographing in that receptive memory of his the ugly features of two men, who peered into the limousine from under the visors of their black caps.  The car sped up town through the bewildering maze of street traffic.  The chauffeur helped him up the steps of the brownstone mansion, while Grimsby’s old butler swung open the glass door, with a helping hand under the feeble arm.