One Hundred and Twelfth Street.

"Well," mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. "Fancy that! The
very street where I live!"

She read on:

The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of
complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives
are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be
clearer.

Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower's body, which,
it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the
river near the spot where the boat was tied.

Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal
meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause
for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before
time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no
heed to it.

The checker tapped at his little window as she passed.

"The boss wants you," he said.

"Me!" she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had
already probably lost her situation!

"Yep," said the man. "You're Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if
there's another peach like you in the bunch I haven't seen her."

She bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff
Cerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to
a hoarse whisper: "There's a cop in there, an' a 'tec,' too."

Winifred was startled out of her forebodings.

"They cannot want me!" she said amazedly.

"You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn't
bat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself."

She was sure now that some stupid mistake had been made. At any rate,
she no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending
calamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door
leading to the general office.

CHAPTER IV

FURTHER SURPRISES

A clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling
discouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for
her. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now.

"Go straight in," he said, jerking a thumb. "A cop's waitin' for you."

Winifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her
head high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door
marked "Manager." She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped
around a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a
policeman, and a dapper little man, slight of fi