ave her believe that it was all part of a plan to trap her
into betraying her father. It drives me almost mad when I think of it!
This inaction, the suspense of it, is intolerable."

"Then go home and find out who fired at you from the window of your
own house. Watch the Brunell cottage, too--there will be developments
there, if I'm not mistaken. To-morrow I may want you to go out on
another branch of this investigation--the search for Ramon Hamilton."

"Very good, sir, I'll try," Morrow promised with obvious reluctance.
"I know how busy you are and how much every day counts in this matter
just now; but for God's sake, do what you can to find the Brunells for
me!"

Blaine repeated his assurances, and Morrow returned to the Bronx with
considerably lightened spirits. The sight of the little cottage across
the way, dark and deserted, brought a pang to his heart, but it also
served to remind him of the duty which lay before him. He must find
out whose hand had fired that shot at him from the house which had
given him shelter.

Mrs. Quinlan had not yet retired. He found her reading a newspaper in
the kitchen, with Caliban curled up in drowsy content beside the
stove.

"Cold out, ain't it?" she observed. "I went round to the store, an' I
like to've froze before I got back. They said they'd send the things,
but they didn't."

"I'll go get them for you," offered Morrow. "Was it the grocery to
which you went?"

"No, the drug store. I--I've got a new lodger upstairs at the back--an
old gentleman who's kind of sickly and rheumatic, and he asked me to
get some things for him. Thank you just the same, Mr. Morrow, but
there ain't no hurry for them." Mrs. Quinlan's wide, ingenuous face
flushed, and for a moment she seemed curiously embarrassed. Could she
have guessed that the revolver shot which had created so much
excitement that afternoon had been fired from beneath her roof?

"A new lodger!" repeated Morrow. "Came to-day, didn't he?"

"No, yesterday," she responded quickly--too quickly, the operative
fancied. The ruddy flush had deepened on her cheek, and she added, as
if unable to restrain the question rising irresistibly to her lips:
"What made you think he came to-day?"

"I thought this afternoon that I heard furniture being moved about in
the room directly over mine," he returned, with studied indifference.

"Oh, you did!" Mrs. Quinlan affirmed. "That's my room, you know. I was
exchanging my bureau for the old gen