who was dead at all."

The valet's last remark was crashing in its effect.

Miss Donovan's eyes dilated with eagerness and amazement.

"Not Frederick Cavendish! Mr. Valois, tell me--why?"

The other's voice fell to a whisper.

"Frederick Cavendish, miss," he said hollowly, "had a scar on his
chest--from football, he once told me--and the man we laid out, well,
of course his body was a bit burned, but he appeared to have no scar at
all!"

"You know that?" demanded the girl, frightened by the import of the
revelation.

"Yes, miss. The assistant in the undertaking rooms said so, too.
Doubting my own mind, I asked him. The man we laid out had no scar on
his chest."

Miss Donovan sprang suddenly to her feet.

"Mr. Valois," she said breathlessly, "you come and tell that story to
my city editor, and he'll see that you get a job--and a real one. You
and I have started something, Mr. Valois."

And, tossing money to cover the bill on the table, she took Valois's
arm, and with him in tow hurried through the restaurant to the city
streets on one of which was the _Star_ office, where Farriss, the city
editor, daily damned the doings of the world.

That night when Farriss had heard the evidence his metallic eyes
snapped with an unusual light. Farriss, for once, was enthusiastic.

"A great lead! By God, it is! Now to prove it, Stella"--Farriss
always resorted to first names--"you drop everything else and go to
this, learn what you can, spend money if you have to. I'll drag Willis
off police, and you work with him. And damn me, if you two spend
money, you've got to get results! I'll give you a week--when you've
got something, come back!"

CHAPTER V: ON THE TRACK OF A CRIME

In the city room of the _Star_, Farriss, the city editor, sat back in
his swivel chair smoking a farewell pipe preparatory to going home.
The final edition had been put to bed, the wires were quiet, and as he
sat there Farriss was thinking of plunging "muskies" in Maine streams.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a clatter of footsteps, and,
slapping his feet to the floor, he turned to confront Willis and Miss
Donovan.

"Great God!" he started, at their appearance at so late an hour.

Miss Donovan smiled at him. "No; great luck!"

"Better than that, Mr. Farriss," echoed Willis. "We've got something;
and we dug all week to get it."

"But it cost us real money--enough to make the business office moan, I
expect, too," Mi