ws separate; the taller one follows in the wake of the
disconsolate detective.

The other, scaling the park palings like a cat, vanishes in the darkness
that surrounds Mapleton.

The reflections of Jerry Belknap, private detective, as he goes, with
moody brow, and tightly compressed lips, across the pretty river bridge,
and back toward his hotel, are far from pleasant.

He is a shrewd man, and has engineered many a knotty case to a
successful issue, thereby covering himself with glory. This was in the
past, however; in the days when he had been regularly attached to a
strong and reliable detective agency.

For tact, energy, ambition, he had no peer; but one day his career had
been nipped in the bud.

A young man, equally talented, and far more honorable, had caused his
overthrow; and yet had saved him from the worst that might have befallen
him. And, Jerry Belknap, had stepped down from an honorable position,
and, determined to make his power, experience, and acknowledged
abilities, serve him as the means of supplying his somewhat extravagant
needs, had resolved himself into a "private detective," and betaken
himself to "ways that are dark."

"There's something at the bottom of this business that I don't
understand," mused he as he paced onward; little thinking how soon he is
to be enlightened on this and sundry other subjects. "I never felt more
sanguine of bringing a crooked operation to a successful termination,
and I never yet made such an abject failure. I shall make it my business
to find out, and at once, what is this power behind the throne. So,
according to Miss Wardour, may Satan fly away with her, I am not to
approach the Lamotte's, I am to lose my reward, I am to retire from the
field like a whipped cur. Miss Wardour, we shall see about that."

"Call me for the early train going west," he says to the night clerk, on
reaching the hotel; "let me see, what is the hour?"

"The western train leaves very early, sir--at four twenty. Then you
won't be here to witness Burrill's funeral? It will call everybody out.
The circumstances attending the man's life and death will make it an
event for W----."

"It's an 'event' that won't interest me. If I have been rightly
informed, the man is better, placed in his coffin, than he ever was in
his boots. I shall leave my baggage here--all but a small valise. I
expect to return to W---- soon. If anything occurs to change my plans, I
will telegraph you and have it forw