Brunell had shown it to me in confidence. It was her property,
and she trusted me. Since I was unable to aid her in solving it, I
returned it to her. The chances are that it is, as she said, a matter
of private business between her father and another man, and it is
probably entirely dissociated from this investigation."

"You're not paid, Morrow, to form opinions of your own, or decide the
ethics, social or moral, of a case you're put on; you're paid to obey
instructions, collect data and obtain whatever evidence there may be.
Remember that. Confidence or no confidence, girl or no girl, you go
back and get that letter! I don't care what means you use, short of
actual murder; that cipher's got to be in my hands before midnight.
Understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand." Morrow rose slowly, and faced his chief.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot do it."

"You can't? That's the first time I ever heard that word from your
lips, Guy." Henry Blaine shook his head sadly, affecting not to notice
his operative's rising emotion.

"I mean that I won't, sir. I'm sorry to appear insubordinate, but
I've got to refuse--I simply must. I've never shirked a duty
before, as I think you will admit, Mr. Blaine. I have always carried
out the missions you entrusted to me to the best of my ability, no
matter what the odds against me, and in this case I have gone ahead
conscientiously up to the present moment, but I won't proceed with it
any further."

"What are you afraid of--Jimmy Brunell?" asked the detective,
significantly.

The insult brought a deep flush to Morrow's cheek, but he controlled
himself.

"No, sir," he responded, quietly. "I'm not going to betray the trust
that girl has reposed in me."

"How about the trust another girl has placed in me--and through me, in
you?" Henry Blaine rose also, and gazed levelly into his operative's
eyes. "What of Anita Lawton? Have you considered her? I ought to
dismiss you, Guy, at this moment, and I would if it were anyone else,
but I can't allow you to fly off at a tangent, and ruin your whole
career. Why should you put this girl, Emily Brunell, before everything
in the world--your duty to Miss Lawton, to me, to yourself?"

"She trusted me," returned Morrow, with grim persistence.

"So did Henrietta Goodwin, in the case of Mrs. Derwenter's diamonds;
so did the little manicure, in the Verdun blackmail affair; so did
Anne Richardson, in the Balazzi kidnaping mystery. You made love to
all of them, an