Fetner, who usually covers it, will explain what there is to do."

Fetner, when his own work was done that night, sought Holt to help him
with any late story which might be troublesome to a new man. They were
walking up Broadway when Fetner, lowering his voice, said: "Here's
Duane, a plain-clothes man, who is useful to us. I'll introduce you."

As the reporters, in the full flood of after-theater crowds, stood
talking to the officer, a young man hurrying past abruptly stopped and
stepped to Duane's side.

"Well, Tommy, what's up with you?" the officer asked. Holt noted that
Tommy, besides being breathed, was excited. His coat and hat had the
provisional look of the apparel of house servants out of livery, and his
trousers belonged to a livery suit. Tommy hesitated, glancing at Duane's
companions, but the officer said: "Tell your story: these are friends of
mine."

"I was just on my way to the station house to see the captain, but I'm
glad I met you, for we don't want the papers to say anything, and
there's always reporters around the station."

Holt would have stepped back, but Fetner detained him, while Duane said
cheerfully: "You're a cunning one, Tommy. Now, what's wrong?"

"Well," began the youth in the manner of a witness on the stand, "I was
on duty in the hall this evening and noticed one of our tenants, Mr.
Porter H. Carrington, leave the house about ten o'clock. I noticed that
he had no overcoat, which I thought was queer, for I'd just closed the
front door, because it was getting chilly."

At the mention of the name Holt started, and now paid close attention to
the story.

"I was reading the sporting extra by the hall light," Tommy continued,
"when, in about twenty minutes, Mr. Carrington returned--that is, I
thought it was Mr. Carrington--and he says to me, 'Tommy, run up to my
dressing-room and fetch my overcoat.' 'Yes, sir,' I says; 'which one?'
for he has a dozen of 'em. 'The light one I wore to-day,' he says, and I
starts up the stairs, his apartment being on the next floor, thinking
I'd see the coat he wanted on a chair if he'd worn it to-day. I'd just
got to his hall and was unlocking the door, when he comes up behind me
and says, 'I'll get it, Tommy; there's something else I want.' So in he
goes, handing me a dime, and I goes back to the hall. In about fifteen
minutes he comes downstairs wearing an overcoat and carrying a bundle,
tosses me the key and starts for the door. He's the kind that nev