striving with only partial success to
reconcile himself to the idea of young Shackford's innocence. Young
Shackford's innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Taggett, for
he had irretrievably committed himself at head-quarters. With
Richard's latent ire was mingled a feeling of profound gratitude.

"The Lord was on my side," he said presently.

"He was on your side, as you remark; and when the Lord is on a
man's side a detective necessarily comes out second best."

"Really, Mr. Taggett," said Richard, smiling, "that is a handsome
admission on your part."

"I mean, sir," replied the latter, slightly nettled, "that it
sometimes seems as if the Lord himself took charge of a case."

"Certainly you are entitled to the credit of going to the bottom
of this one."

"I have skillfully and laboriously damaged my reputation, Mr.
Shackford."

Mr. Taggett said this with so heavy an air that Richard felt a
stir of sympathy in his bosom.

"I am very sorry," he said good-naturedly.

"No, I beg of you!" exclaimed Mr. Taggett. "Any expression of
friendliness from you would finish me! For nearly ten days I have
looked upon you as a most cruel and consummate villain."

"I know," said Richard. "I must be quite a disappointment to you,
in a small way."

Mr. Taggett laughed in spite of himself. "I hope I don't take a
morbid view of it," he said. A few steps further on he relaxed his
gait. "We have taken the Hennessey girl into custody. Do you imagine
she was concerned?"

"Have you questioned her?"

"Yes; she denies everything, except that she told Durgin you had
quarreled with the old gentleman."

"I think Mary Hennessey an honest girl. She's little more than a
child. I doubt if she knew anything whatever. Durgin was much too
shrewd to trust her, I fancy."

As the speakers struck into the principal street, through the
lower and busier end of which they were obliged to pass, Mr. Taggett
caused a sensation. The drivers of carts and the pedestrians on both
sidewalks stopped and looked at him. The part he had played in
Slocum's Yard was now an open secret, and had produced an excitement
that was not confined to the clientele of Snelling's bar-room. It was
known that William Durgin had disappeared, and that the constables
were searching for him. The air was thick with flying projectures,
but none of them precisely hit the mark. One rumor there was which
seemed almost like a piece of poetical justice,--a whisper to the
effe