kes."

I had seen the lawyer's face light up for a moment, and then, at the
sound of Jim's proviso, miserably fade. "I guess you know more about
this wreck than I do, Mr. Pinkerton," said he. "I only know that I was
told to buy the thing, and tried, and couldn't."

"What I like about you, Mr. Bellairs, is that you waste no time," said
Jim. "Now then, your client's name and address."

"On consideration," replied the lawyer, with indescribable furtivity, "I
cannot see that I am entitled to communicate my client's name. I will
sound him for you with pleasure, if you care to instruct me, but I
cannot see that I can give you his address."

"Very well," said Jim, and put his hat on. "Rather a strong step, isn't
it?" (Between every sentence was a clear pause.) "Not think better of
it? Well, come, call it a dollar?"

"Mr. Pinkerton, sir!" exclaimed the offended attorney and, indeed, I
myself was almost afraid that Jim had mistaken his man and gone too far.

"No present use for a dollar?" says Jim. "Well, look here, Mr.
Bellairs--we're both busy men, and I'll go to my outside figure with you
right away--"

"Stop this, Pinkerton," I broke in; "I know the address: 924 Mission
Street."

I do not know whether Pinkerton or Bellairs was the more taken aback.

"Why in snakes didn't you say so, Loudon?" cried my friend.

"You didn't ask for it before," said I, colouring to my temples under
his troubled eyes.

It was Bellairs who broke silence, kindly supplying me with all that I
had yet to learn. "Since you know Mr. Dickson's address," said he,
plainly burning to be rid of us, "I suppose I need detain you no
longer."

I do not know how Pinkerton felt, but I had death in my soul as we came
down the outside stair from the den of this blotched spider. My whole
being was strung, waiting for Jim's first question, and prepared to
blurt out--I believe, almost with tears--a full avowal. But my friend
asked nothing.

"We must hack it," said he, tearing off in the direction of the nearest
stand. "No time to be lost. You saw how I changed ground. No use in
paying the shyster's commission."

Again I expected a reference to my suppression; again I was
disappointed. It was plain Jim feared the subject, and I felt I almost
hated him for that fear. At last, when we were already in the hack and
driving towards Mission Street, I could bear my suspense no longer.

"You do not ask me about that address," said I.

"No," said he, quickly