, she stood on her
tiptoe and whispered in his ear:

"My name Cio-Cio-San; your friend, Hanada friend. Good-by." Then she was
gone.

Johnny walked to his hotel as in a dream. He had hoped to return to his
den, his job and to Mazie in Chicago, and in a quiet way, all mysteries
dissolved, to live his old happy life. But here were all the mysteries
carrying him right to his own city and promising to end--in what?
Perhaps in some tremendous sensation. Who could tell? And the diamonds;
what of them? He put his hand to his inner pocket; they were still
there. Was he watched? Would he be followed? Even as he asked himself
the question, he fancied that a dark form moved stealthily across the
street.

"Well, anyway," he said to himself, "I can't desert my Jap friends.
Besides, I don't want to."

* * * * *

"Chicago," said Hanada some time later, as Johnny related his
conversation with Cio-Cio-San. "That means the end is near."

The end was not so near as he thought. When it came it was not, alas! to
be for him the kind of end he fancied.

"All right," he said. "To-night we go to Chicago."

On the trip eastward from Seattle, Johnny slept much and talked little.
The Jap girl and Hanada occupied compartments in different cars and
appeared to wish to avoid being seen together or with Johnny. This, he
concluded, was because there might be Russian Radicals on this very
train. Johnny slept with the diamonds pressed against his chest and it
was with a distinct sense of relief that he at last heard the hollow
roar of the train as it passed over the street subways, for he knew this
meant he was back in dear old Chicago, where he might have bitter
enemies, but where also were many warm friends.

CHAPTER XIV

THE MYSTERY OF THE CHICAGO RIVER

Johnny Thompson dodged around a corner on West Ohio street, then walked
hurriedly down Wells street. At a corner of the building which shadowed
the river from the north he paused and listened; then with a quick
wrench, he tore a door open, closed it hastily and silently, and was up
the dusty stairs like a flash. At the top he waited and listened, then
turning, made his way up two other flights, walked down a dark corridor,
turned a key in a lock, threw the door open, closed it after him,
scratched a match, lighted a gas lamp, then uttered a low "Whew!" at the
dust that had accumulated everywhere.

Brushing off a chair, he sat down. For a few moment