I tore a sheet from a newspaper, and, wrapping the junk up, started out again. He stopped me. “Wouldn’t it be just as well to take the balance of that paper and throw it away, Kid? Why leave it in the room? It fits the piece you have in your pocket. And be sure to throw that junk away. Don’t plant it somewhere against a rainy day. Throw it away,” he finished emphatically.

Again I obeyed. When I got back he had planted the stones, a very small parcel now, in the hotel washroom. On our way out he said, “One more thing now, and I will feel safe. We will get a new hat each.”

We left the old ones in the store, “to be called for.”

“Now, Kid, something to eat, and I will sum up for you the doings of this evening.” Seated in a quiet restaurant with decent dinners before us, Sanc began.

“You probably thought when you were seized coming down the porch that I had abandoned you.”

I protested, “No, no.”