true; and he did not care to court ultimate
disappointment.

Proof, proof; but where? Why had the man not returned the clothes to
the trunk and shut it? What had alarmed him? Everything else
indicated the utmost caution. . . . A glint of light flashing and
winking from steel. Haggerty rose and went over to the window. He
picked up a bunch of keys, thirty or forty in all, on a ring, weighing
a good pound. The detective touched the throbbing bump and sensed a
moisture; blood. So this was the weapon? He weighed the keys on his
palm. A long time since he had seen a finer collection of skeleton
keys, thin and flat and thick and short, smooth and notched, each a gem
of its kind. Three or four ordinary keys were sandwiched in between,
and Haggerty inspected these curiously.

"H'm. Mebbe it's a hunch. Anyhow, I'll try it. Can't lose anything
trying."

He turned out the desk light and went down to the lower hall, his
pocket-lamp serving as guide. He unlatched the heavy door-chains,
opened the doors and closed them behind him. He inserted one of the
ordinary keys. It refused to work. He tried another. The door swung
open, easily.

"Now, then, come down out o' that!" growled a voice at the foot of the
steps. "Thought y'd be comin' out by-'n-by. No foolin' now, 'r I blow
a hole through ye!"

Haggerty wheeled quickly. "'S that you, Dorgan? Come up."

"Haggerty?" said the astonished patrolman. "An' Mitchell an' I've been
watchin' these lights fer an hour!"

"Some one's been here, though; so y' weren't wasting your time. I
climbed up th' fire-escape in th' alley an' got a nice biff on th' coco
for me pains. See any one running before y' saw th' lights?"

"Why, yes!"

"Ha! It's hard work t' get it int' your heads that when y' see a man
running at this time o' night, in a quiet side-street it's up t' you t'
ask him questions."

"Thought he was chasin' a cab."

"Well, listen here. Till th' owner comes back, keep your eyes peeled
on this place. An' any one y' see prowling around, nab him an' send
for me. On your way!"

Haggerty departed in a hurry. He had already made up his mind as to
what he was going to do. He hunted up a taxicab and told the chauffeur
where to go, advising him to "hit it up." His destination was the
studio-apartment of J. Mortimer Forbes, the artist. It was late, but
this fact did not trouble Haggerty. Forbes never went to bed until
there was positively nothing else