mourning.

"I've never seen anything like it before, Mrs. Malony," she said. "It was
quite quiet where we lived in London, and here, with the street cars and
the elevated railways and the clanging of bells, there never seems to be a
moment's peace."

Mrs. Malony came to the girl's side.

"Your poor uncle looks as though a little peace would do him good," she
remarked.

The girl sighed.

"If only I could do something for him!" she murmured.

"He's in some kind of trouble, I think," Mrs. Malony observed. "He is not
what you might call a communicative person, but it's easy to see that he
is far from being happy in himself. You'll ring when you're ready, Miss
Mary?"

The door was suddenly opened, and Craig entered. He was very pale and a
little out of breath. Before he closed the door, he listened for a moment.

"Just as we were speaking about you, Mr. Craig," the landlady continued.
"I was saying to the young lady that there was only one thing I could wish
for you both, and that was that you weren't quite so worried like."

Craig seemed scarcely to hear her.

"Look across the road," he begged. "Tell me if there is a man in a blue
serge suit and a bowler hat, smoking a cigar, looking across here."

Mrs. Malony and the girl both obeyed. The girl was the first to speak.

"Yes!" she announced. "He is looking straight at these windows."

Craig groaned and sank down upon a chair.

"Leave us, if you please, Mrs. Malony," he ordered. "I'll ring when I'm
ready."

Mrs. Malony hesitated with the door-knob in her hand.

"I'm not wishing to say anything that might sound offensive," she observed
slowly, "but if it's a case of trouble of any sort with the police, Mr.
Craig--"

"That will do," Craig interrupted. "It isn't anything of the sort you
think. You are not likely to suffer by having me here, Mrs. Malony, or by
looking after my niece when I have gone."

The landlady left the room silently. The girl came over to her uncle and
threw her arm around his neck.

"Please don't talk about going away, uncle," she pleaded. "I have been so
happy since I have been with you."

He patted her head, felt in his pocket, and drew out a little paper bag,
from which he shook a bunch of violets. The girl pinned them to her frock
with a little cry of pleasure.

"How kind you are to me!" she exclaimed. "You think of everything!"

He sighed.

"If I had had you for a little longer, Mary," he said, "perhaps I should
have been