"Made with these hands. I added a few more raisins yesterday, to
speed things up a bit. There is much virtue in your raisin. And,
talking of speeding things up, for goodness' sake try to be a bit
more punctual to-morrow. We lost an hour of good daylight to-day."

"I like that! I was here on the absolute minute. I had to hang about
on the landing waiting for you."

"Well, well, that doesn't matter," said J. B. Wheeler, impatiently,
for the artist soul is always annoyed by petty details. "The point
is that we were an hour late in getting to work. Mind you're here
to-morrow at eleven sharp."

It was, therefore, with a feeling of guilt and trepidation that
Archie mounted the stairs on the following morning; for in spite of
his good resolutions he was half an hour behind time. He was
relieved to find that his friend had also lagged by the wayside. The
door of the studio was ajar, and he went in, to discover the place
occupied by a lady of mature years, who was scrubbing the floor with
a mop. He went into the bedroom and donned his bathing suit. When he
emerged, ten minutes later, the charwoman had gone, but J. B.
Wheeler was still absent. Rather glad of the respite, he sat down to
kill time by reading the morning paper, whose sporting page alone he
had managed to master at the breakfast table.

There was not a great deal in the paper to interest him. The usual
bond-robbery had taken place on the previous day, and the police
were reported hot on the trail of the Master-Mind who was alleged to
be at the back of these financial operations. A messenger named
Henry Babcock had been arrested and was expected to become