k the box and looked at it sharply. There was no card this
time, but she felt sure it was from James Denton.

"You can have it, Sam," she said, without an instant's hesitation. "I
really don't care for it; do take it, Sam. But, by the way, where did
you get it?"

"Hush!"

The boy whispered the word with his fingers on his lips.

"There they come now, miss! Are you sure you don't want it?"

"Quite sure, Sam," was Faith's answer, as she hurried away. She did not
wish the clerks to know that she had been the recipient of more
presents.

Sam Watkins took the box directly to the men's lunch-room, which was on
the same floor at the other end of the building.

Being a boy, he could not long resist the temptation of candy, but just
as he opened the box with a grimace of delight, Ben Tyler came in
carrying a wide-awake, little Skye terrier.

"I just found him in the store; some lady has lost him, I guess," said
Tyler, as the others all looked at him. "I was going to send him to the
'Found desk,' but he wouldn't have it. He sticks to me as if I was his
master."

"I'll get him away from you, I'll bet!" said Sam, holding out a piece
of candy.

In a second the dog sprang out of Tyler's arms and swallowed the
sweetmeat greedily.

"There, you can't have any more," said Sam, after he had fed him a
couple more pieces. "I've got to treat the rest of the crowd, and there
won't be enough to go around."

"Keep your candy, kid; we don't want it," said one of the men
good-naturedly, but Sam was so interested in watching the lively little
dog that, fortunately, he forgot to eat for a few minutes.

"Hello! What ails the dog?" exclaimed Tyler, suddenly. "How queer he
acts! I believe the stuff has made him sick already!"

All eyes were turned on the poor little creature, and it was soon plain
to be seen that he was suffering terribly.

"It ought not to hurt him," said one of the men.

"Not if it's all right," said Tyler, going over toward Sam. "Let me see
your candy, my boy; I believe there's something wrong with it."

Sam dropped the chocolate that he was just conveying to his mouth, and
handed the box to the detective with great alacrity.

"There's something in it, I'm sure," he said, after a careful scrutiny,
"and I'm willing to bet the stuff is poisoned!"

A final moan from the poor little dog fully justified him in his
decision.

"The dog is dead," said one of the clerks in a solemn voice. "So there
isn't a shadow