rton or Bellairs was the more taken aback.

"Why in snakes didn't you say so, Loudon?" cried my friend.

"You didn't ask for it before," said I, colouring to my temples under
his troubled eyes.

It was Bellairs who broke silence, kindly supplying me with all that
I had yet to learn. "Since you know Mr. Dickson's address," said
he, plainly burning to be rid of us, "I suppose I need detain you no
longer."

I do not know how Pinkerton felt, but I had death in my soul as we came
down the outside stair, from the den of this blotched spider. My whole
being was strung, waiting for Jim's first question, and prepared to
blurt out, I believe, almost with tears, a full avowal. But my friend
asked nothing.

"We must hack it," said he, tearing off in the direction of the nearest
stand. "No time to be lost. You saw how I changed ground. No use in
paying the shyster's commission."

Again I expected a reference to my suppression; again I was
disappointed. It was plain Jim feared the subject, and I felt I almost
hated him for that fear. At last, when we were already in the hack and
driving towards Mission Street, I could bear my suspense no longer.

"You do not ask me about that address," said I.

"No," said he, quickly and timidly. "What was it? I would like to know."

The note of timidity offended me like a buffet; my temper rose as hot as
mustard. "I must request you do not ask me," said I. "It is a matter I
cannot explain."

The moment the foolish words were said, that moment I would have given
worlds to recall them: how much more, when Pinkerton, patting my hand,
replied: "All right, dear boy; not another word; that's all done. I'm
convinced it's perfectly right." To return upon the subject was beyond
my courage; but I vowed inwardly that I should do my utmost in the
future for this mad speculation, and that I would cut myself in pieces
before Jim should lose one dollar.

We had no sooner arrived at the address than I had other things to think
of.

"Mr. Dickson? He's gone," said the landlady.

Where had he gone?

"I'm sure I can't tell you," she answered. "He was quite a stranger to
me."

"Did he express his baggage, ma'am?" asked Pinkerton.

"Hadn't any," was the reply. "He came last night and left again to-day
with a satchel."

"When did he leave?" I inquired.

"It was about noon," replied the landlady. "Some one rang up the
telephone, and asked for him; and I reckon he got some news, for he
left right aw