obby, awaiting Nan Brent's next move. When he saw her at the
cashier's window paying out, he concealed himself behind a newspaper,
and watched her covertly as the clerk gave instructions to the head
porter regarding the disposition of her baggage. The instant she left
the hotel, accompanied by her child, Dirty Dan approached the porter
and said with an insinuating smile:

"I'd give a dollar to know the address the young lady wit' the baby
bhoy give you f'r the delivery av her trunk."

The porter reached for the dollar and handed Dirty Dan a shipping tag
containing the address. Mr. O'Leary laboriously wrote the address in a
filthy little memorandum-book, and that afternoon made a point of
looking up Nan's new habitation. He discovered it to be an old
brownstone front in lower Madison Avenue, and a blue-and-gold sign
over the area fence indicated to Mr. O'Leary that, from an abode of
ancient New York aristocracy, the place had degenerated into a
respectable boarding-house.

"'Tis true," Dirty Dan murmured. "She's given the young fella the
go-by. Hurro! An' I'm bettin' I'm the only lad in the wide, wide
wurrld that knows where she's gone. Faith, but wouldn't Misther Donald
pay handsomely for the information in me little book."

Having, as he judged, followed the mystery to its logical conclusion,
Mr. O'Leary was sensible of a sudden waning of his abnormal curiosity
in Nan Brent's affairs. He acknowledged to himself that he had spent
time and money on a matter that was absolutely none of his business,
but excused himself upon the ground that if he hadn't investigated the
matter thoroughly, his failure to do so might annoy him in the future.
If, for no other reason than the desirability of being on the inside
track of this little romance of a rich man's son, his action was to be
commended. People have no business disappearing without leaving a
trace or saying good-by to those that love them. Dirty Dan hadn't the
least idea of selling his information to Donald McKaye, but something
in his peculiar mental make-up caused him to cherish a secret for its
own sake; he had a true Irishman's passion for being "in the know,"
and now that he was in it, he was tremendously satisfied with himself
and dismissed the entire matter from his mind. Old Ireland and her
woes were again paramount, so Mr. O'Leary presented himself before the
proper authorities and applied for a passport to visit Ireland.

Now, while Daniel J. did not know it