ceaseless work, Henry Blaine, clear-eyed and
alert of brain, was seated at his desk at the stroke of nine when
Suraci was ushered in--the young detective who had trailed Walter
Pennold from Brooklyn to the quiet backwater where Jimmy Brunell had
sought in vain for disassociation from his past shadowy environment.

"It has become necessary, through an incident which occurred
yesterday, for me to change my plans," Blaine announced. "I had
intended to put you on the trail of a young crook, a relative of
Pennold, but I find I must send you instead to Long Bay to look up a
hotel register for me and obtain some writing paper with the engraved
letter-head from that hotel. You can get a train in an hour, if you
look sharp. Try to get back to-night or to-morrow morning at the
latest. Find out anything you can regarding the visit there two years
ago last August of Pennington Lawton and his daughter and of other
guests who arrived during their stay. Here are your instructions."

Twenty minutes' low-voiced conversation ensued, and Suraci took his
departure. He was followed almost immediately by Guy Morrow.

"What is the dope, sir?" the latter asked eagerly, as he entered.
"There's an extra out about the Hamilton disappearance. Do you think
Paddington's had a hand in that?"

"I want you to tail him," Blaine replied, non-committally. "Find out
anything you can of his movements for the past few weeks, but don't
lose sight of him for a minute until to-morrow morning. He's supposed
to be working up the evidence now for the Snedecker divorce, so it
won't be difficult for you to locate him. You know what he looks
like."

"Yes, sir. I know the man himself--if you call such a little rat a
man. We had a run-in once, and it isn't likely I'd forget him."

"Then be careful to keep out of his sight. He may be a rat, but he's
as keen-eyed as a ferret. I'd rather put some one on him whom he
didn't know, but we'll have to chance it. I wouldn't trust this to
anyone but you, Guy."

The young operative flushed with pride at this tribute from his chief,
and after a few more instructions he went upon his way with alacrity.

Once more alone, Henry Blaine sat for a long time lost in thought. An
idea had come to him, engendered by a few vague words uttered by Anita
Lawton in the early hours of that morning: an idea so startling, so
tremendous in its import, that even he scarcely dared give it
credence. To put it to the test, to prove or disprove i