ght, and nothing came up to prove any
thing."

"You must have been talking to some newspaper man yourself," was
Garrison's comment. He looked at Tuttle keenly.

"I did, yes, sir. One of them saw me here two or three times and
finally asked me what paper I represented. I told him the _Cable_."

Garrison paced up and down the floor somewhat restlessly.

"I think of nothing further except for you to keep an eye on the
Robinsons," he said. "Wait a minute. I want you to go to the
Ninety-third Street house with a note I'll give you to the housekeeper,
and examine the closet, in the back room, first flight up, to see if an
equipment telephone is still in place there, concealed beneath a lot of
clothing."

He sat down, wrote the note, and gave it to Tuttle, who departed with
instructions to return with his report as soon as possible.

The office oppressed Garrison. It seemed to confine him. He prodded
himself with a hundred vague notions that there ought to be something
he could do, some way to get at things more rapidly. He wondered how
far he would find it possible to go with Foster Durgin, and what the
fellow would say or do, if confronted with the cold-blooded facts
already collated.

Up and down and up and down he paced, impatient of every minute that
sped away bringing nothing to the door. Would Barnes arrive in time,
or at all? Would Durgin fail to come? Did Dorothy know of his
presence in the city?

Everything always swung back to Dorothy. What would she do concerning
Fairfax? What would Fairfax himself attempt to do, so far baffled, but
a factor with a hold upon her name and, perhaps, upon her fortune? And
if the thing should all be cleared at last, and come to its end, as all
things must, what would be the outcome for himself and Dorothy?

She had told him at the start that when her business ends had been
completely served she would wish him to dismiss himself,--from her life
and her memory forever. He smiled at the utter futility of such a
behest. It had gone beyond his power to forget like this, though a
century of time should elapse.

For an hour he paced his cage impatiently, and nothing happened. A
dozen times he went to the door, opened it and looked out in the
hall--to no avail. The moment for young Durgin to arrive was at hand.
It was almost time for young Barnes to appear.

Tuttle should have made his trip by this. The postman should have
brought that photograph from Israel Sn