g eyes and teeth.

"Come around to the hotel and see me, Bill, before you leave the
city," she called as the glittering cab rolled away.

Highsmith, still in his make-up, went with Herr Goldstein to a cafe
booth.

"Bright idea, eh?" asked the smiling actor. "Ought to land 'Sol
Haytosser' for me, don't you think? The little lady never once
tumbled."

"I didn't hear your conversation," said Goldstein, "but your make-up
and acting was O. K. Here's to your success. You'd better call on
Miss Carrington early to-morrow and strike her for the part. I don't
see how she can keep from being satisfied with your exhibition of
ability."

At 11.45 A. M. on the next day Highsmith, handsome, dressed in the
latest mode, confident, with a fuchsia in his button-hole, sent up
his card to Miss Carrington in her select apartment hotel.

He was shown up and received by the actress's French maid.

"I am sorree," said Mlle. Hortense, "but I am to say this to all. It
is with great regret. Mees Carrington have cancelled all engagements
on the stage and have returned to live in that--how you call that
town? Cranberry Cornaire!"

XXI

THE CLARION CALL

Half of this story can be found in the records of the Police
Department; the other half belongs behind the business counter of a
newspaper office.

One afternoon two weeks after Millionaire Norcross was found in
his apartment murdered by a burglar, the murderer, while strolling
serenely down Broadway ran plump against Detective Barney Woods.

"Is that you, Johnny Kernan?" asked Woods, who had been near-sighted
in public for five years.

"No less," cried Kernan, heartily. "If it isn't Barney Woods, late
and early of old Saint Jo! You'll have to show me! What are you doing
East? Do the green-goods circulars get out that far?"

"I've been in New York some years," said Woods. "I'm on the city
detective force."

"Well, well!" said Kernan, breathing smiling joy and patting the
detective's arm.

"Come into Muller's," said Woods, "and let's hunt a quiet table. I'd
like to talk to you awhile."

It lacked a few minutes to the hour of four. The tides of trade were
not yet loosed, and they found a quiet corner of the cafe. Kernan,
well dressed, slightly swaggering, self-confident, seated himself
opposite the little detective, with his pale, sandy mustache,
squinting eyes and ready-made cheviot suit.

"What business are you in now?" asked Woods. "You know you left Saint
Jo a yea