he attempt to do so, or ask you to get in there for
him, agree to his instructions apparently, and let me know without
delay."

"Thank you for giving me a chance," said Tuttle, who had risen from his
chair. "You'll never regret it, I'm sure."

"All right," said Garrison. "Shake!"

He gave the astonished man a firm, friendly grip and bade him "So
'long!" at the door.

A few minutes later, dressed in his freshest apparel, he hastened out
to gulp down a cup of strong coffee at an adjacent cafe, then headed
downtown for the ferry.

CHAPTER XXII

A MAN IN THE CASE

The hour was just after four o'clock when Garrison stepped from a cab
in Hackatack Street, Jersey City, and stood for a moment looking at the
red-brick building numbered 937.

It was a shabby, smoke-soiled, neglected dwelling, with signs of life
utterly lacking.

Made wary by his Central Park experience, Garrison had come there armed
with his gun and suspiciously alert. His cabman was instructed to wait.

Without apparent hesitation Garrison ascended the chalk-marked steps
and rang the bell.

Almost immediately the door was opened, by a small and rather pretty
young woman, dressed in good taste, in the best of materials, and
wearing a very fine diamond ring upon her finger.

Behind her, as Garrison instantly discerned, were rich and costly
furnishings, singularly out of keeping with the shabby exterior of the
place.

"How do you do?" he said, raising his hat. "Is my wife, Mrs.
Fairfax----"

"Oh," interrupted the lady. "Won't you please come in? She hardly
expected you to come so promptly. She's lying down to take a rest."

Garrison entered and was shown to a parlor on the left. It, too, was
furnished in exceptional richness, but the air was close and stuffy,
and the whole place uncomfortably dark.

"If you'll please sit down I'll go and tell her you have come," said
his hostess. "Excuse me."

The smile on her face was somewhat forced and sad, thought Garrison.
His feeling of suspicion had departed.

Left alone, he strode across the room and glanced at a number of
pictures, hung upon the walls. They were excellent oils, one or two by
masters.

Dorothy must have slept lightly, if at all. Garrison's back was still
turned toward the entrance when her footfall came to his ear. She came
swiftly into the apartment.

"Oh, you were very good to come so soon!" she said in a tone made low
for none but him to hear. "I wired you,