tion and took himself off in dignified silence. When he had reached home and had settled himself on the platform in the apple tree, however, Fudge realized that his reputation and standing as an authority on crime and its detection was in danger. Something, consequently, must be done to restore Perry's confidence. But what? He thought hard and long, so long that twilight grew to darkness before he left his retreat and hurried to the house for supper. He had, though, solved his problem.
The next day, which was Saturday, he presented himself at Perry's at a little after nine o'clock. Perry, who had been practicing starts on the weed-grown path at the side of the house, joined him on the front porch somewhat out of breath and with his thoughts far from the subject of crime and criminals, clews and detectives. One glance at Fudge's countenance, however, told him that matters of importance were about to be divulged. He pocketed his grips and prepared to listen and be impressed. Briefly, what Fudge had to say was this:
He had, he found, been slightly mistaken regarding Mr. Myron Addicks. The mistake was a natural one. It consisted of classifying Mr. Addicks as a safe-breaker instead of a train-robber. Fudge did not explain clearly by what marvelous mental
processes he had arrived at a knowledge of his error,
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