rth side.

Harry hastened down the great jewelry center.

He scrutinized every one he met.

As a general rule, excepting girls who are employed in the business houses
of the downtown section of the city, but few females frequent the side
streets.

In fact, so few pass through these streets, that when they do, they are
noticed by the numerous boys and business men thereabouts.

Harry was relying upon this curious, but true fact, to gain some news of
the girl he was pursuing.

He therefore did not hesitate to ask everyone with whom he came in contact
if they had seen such a girl as Clara was.

In some cases he received a negative answer, while in others, not a few
people admitted they had noticed her.

According to the latter information, he traced her to Nassau street, and an
Italian apple vender with a push-cart near the corner, said he had seen her
turn the corner and proceed toward John street.

Following up this clew, Harry met a man standing near the window of a
haberdasher's store who asserted that he had seen such a person go through
John street toward Broadway.

He averred that she had gone into a building near the corner and pointed
out the place to the young detective.

When Harry reached the building in question, he paused and studied the
business men's signs in the doorway.

One in particular attracted his attention, worded this way:

"Cliquot & Co., Diamonds, Second Floor Front."

A curious smile flitted over the young detective's face and he passed into
the narrow hall and ascended the stairs muttering:

"I wonder if she's in there?"

In the upper hall he saw the name of the dealer in precious stones, painted
on the ground-glass window.

Harry opened the door and strode in.

He found himself in a small office containing two huge Herring safes,
guarded with burglar alarm cabinets. A long table covered with blue cloth
served as a counter. Near the front windows was a bookkeeper working at his
desk. At the rear a small compartment was partitioned off to serve as a
private office.

A fat little Frenchman was behind the counter, but Harry did not see any
signs of Clara La Croix.

A feeling of disappointment overcame him.

The salesman bowed, looked at him inquiringly, and asked politely:

"Well, sir, what can I do for you to-day?"

"Is Mr. Cliquot in?" asked Harry, in low tones.

The salesman smiled and shook his head.

"No," he replied. "He is dead."

"Dead? But the name o