in a position to
know a great many queer characters--crooks, Molly. I was working
among them."

"But, father, that night at our house you didn't know Mr. Pitt. He
had to tell you his name."

"I didn't know him--then," said her father slowly, "but--but--" he
paused--"but I made inquiries," he concluded with a rush, "and found
out things."

He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his way
now.

"Inquiries?" said Molly. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you suspect him?"

A moment earlier, the question might have confused McEachern, but
not now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride.

"It's hard to say, my dear. A man who has had as much to do with
crooks as I have recognizes them when he sees them."

"Did you think Mr. Pitt looked--looked like that?" Her voice was
very small. There was a drawn, pinched expression on her face. She
was paler than ever.

He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his words
had done; how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her,
and lighted her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden
there. She knew now. The feeling of comradeship, the instinctive
trust, the sense of dependence--they no longer perplexed her; they
were signs which she could read.

And he was crooked!

McEachern proceeded. Belief made him buoyant.

"I did, my dear. I can read them like a book. I've met scores of his
sort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant manner
don't make a man honest. I've run up against a mighty high-toned
bunch of crooks in my day. It's a long time since I gave up thinking
that it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears
that needed watching. It's the innocent Willies who look as if all
they could do was to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt's one of them.
I'm not guessing, mind you. I know. I know his line, and all about
him. I'm watching him. He's here on some game. How did he get here?
Why, he scraped acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a London
restaurant. It's the commonest trick on the list. If I hadn't
happened to be here when he came, I suppose he'd have made his haul
by now. Why, he came all prepared for it! Have you seen an ugly,
grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging about the place? His valet.
So he says. Valet! Do you know who that is? That's one of the most
notorious yegg-men on the other side. There isn't a policeman in New
York who doesn't know Spike Mullins. Even if I knew nothing of thi