d best be followed with the aid of this woman, who evidently hated
the man she denounced. She would be of assistance, too, in identifying
both the lace and the thief--and he had seen neither the one nor the
other as yet. So it was the same old game, was it?--with a man at the
bottom of the deal!

"Do you know the pawn-shops around here?" he asked, becoming suddenly
confidential.

"Not one of them, and don't want to," came the contemptuous reply. "When
I get as low down as that, I've got a brother to help me. He'll be up
here himself to-night and will tell you so."

Pickert had been standing over her throughout the interview, despite
her invitation to be seated. He now moved toward a seat, his hat still
tilted back from his forehead.

"What makes you think this man you call Dalton stole it?" he asked,
drawing a chair out from the table, as though he meant to let her lead
him on a new scent.

"Come over here before you sit down and I'll tell you," she exclaimed,
peremptorily. "Now take a look at that box. Now watch me lift the lid,
and see what you find," and she enacted the little pantomime of the
morning.

The detective stroked his chin with his forefinger. He was more
interested in Martha's talk about Dalton than he was in the contents of
the box. "And you want to get him, don't you?" he asked slyly.

"Me get him! I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. What I want is
for him to keep out of here--I told him that last night."

"Well, then, tell me what he looks like, so I can get him."

"Like anybody else until you catch the hang-dog droop in his eyes, as if
he was afraid people would ask him some question he couldn't answer."

"One of the slick kind?"

"Yes, for he's been a gentleman--before he got down to be a dog."

"How old?"

"About thirty--maybe thirty two or three. You can't tell to look at him,
he's that battered."

"Smooth-shaven--well-dressed?"

"Yes--no beard nor mustache on him. I couldn't see his clothes. His big
cape-coat, buttoned up to his chin, hid them and his face, too. He had a
slouch-hat on his head with the brim pulled down when he went out."

"And you say he's been living off of Mrs. Stanton since--"

"No, I didn't say it. I said he was a cur and that she wouldn't go
to jail to please him--that's what I said. Now, young man, if you're
through, I am. I've got to get my work done."

Pickert tilted his hat to the other side of his bullet head, felt in his
side pocket for a c