she ran on, "although nobody can say it's not as
quiet and respectable hereabouts as the next place. You've noticed as
much yourself, I dare say. Nothing ever happens. A misfortune to all of
us, I call it. Why, it's barely two hours ago that they brought a poor
fellow out of this very alley with his head lolloping around like a ball
on a string. He fell and hurt himself, I hear, although he looked
perfectly dead to me. Think of that! Two in one day. Oh, it doesn't help
the neighborhood, although there's nobody in the whole block as would do
another an injury, unless it might be that poor boy's cousin, the old
rip who lives in the fine house through yonder. He's a bad one, far
worse than Emile, if I do say it who never speaks ill of my neighbors.
And there's others besides me who'll be sorry it isn't him instead of
the young man who lies there with a hole through his ribs. Why, I
thought he was some masquerader, up to his carnival pranks, or drunk,
perhaps, until I noticed him all over blood."

Van Dam drew the speaker into her shop, which was near by, then handed
her a bank-note. "Come! I want you to tell me all you know."

"Ho! A detective, eh? Not that I wouldn't tell you all I know without
this--Ten dollars, is it? Peace and love! You _are_ generous! Well,
then, he has stood right in your tracks, in this very store, many's the
time. Law! What a lad he was! Nothing bad about him, but just reckless,
we used to think. Of course that was before we learned the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"You must be a stranger. Why, the whole world knows the scandal. It made
a commotion, I can tell you. But the poor lad! He's paid for all his
evil deeds. Why, sir, he was dead when he walked out into the street. He
must have been a corpse even when I took him for a merrymaker. Strange
things do happen on these carnival days. They must have finished him
with one stroke. Ugh!"

"They? Whom do you mean?"

The old woman winked, and wagged her head sagely. "Oh! You'll never
learn who, but we know. You think the gang was broken up when Emile went
to prison, but where do all these counterfeits come from, eh? Answer me
that. There's not a week goes by that one of them doesn't find its way
into my store. They're perfect, or nearly so; it would take a
bank-teller to find a flaw. I'm always frightened to death till I work
them off again. For all I know, this very ten-dollar bill you gave me is
bad, but I'll risk it. Some people don't seem t