million and try to spend it in the desert of Sahara.
He's here, or in Boston, enjoying the sight of his wife stewing in
poverty. It would be just like the sneak to do her that turn."

She looked wickedly at Arthur. What a face! Thin, broad, yet finely
proportioned, with short, flaxen locks framing it, delicate eyebrows
marking the brow and emphasizing the beautiful eyes. A woman to be
feared, an evil spirit in some of her moods.

"You tried the same plan," Arthur began----

"But he had no partner to sharpen his wits," she interrupted. Arthur
bowed.

"That makes all the difference in the world," he said sincerely. "Let me
hope that you will give your husband some hints in a case which I am
going to give him."

He described the career of Sister Claire briefly, and expressed the wish
to learn as much as possible of her earlier history. The Currans
laughed.

"I had that job before," said the detective. "If the Jones case were
only half a hundred times harder I might be happy. Her past is unknown
except that she has been put out of many convents. I never looked up her
birthplace or her relatives. Her name is Kate Kerrigan along with ten
other names. She drinks a little, and just now holds a fine stake in New
York ... There's the whole of it."

"Not much to build upon, if one wished to worry Claire, or other
people."

"Depend upon it," Colette broke in, "that Kate Kerrigan has a pretty
history behind her. I'll bet she was an actress once. I've seen her
stage poses ... then her name, catchy ... and the way she rolls her eyes
and looks at that congregation of elders, and deacons and female saints,
when she sets them shivering over the nastiness that's coming."

Curran glanced at her with a look of inquiry. She sat on the window-sill
like a bird, watching the street without, half listening to the men
within. Arthur made a close study of the weird creature, sure that a
strain of madness ran in her blood. Her looks and acts had the grace of
a wild nature, which purrs, and kills, and purrs again. Quiet and dreamy
this hour, in her dances she seemed half mad with vitality.

"Tell him what you learned about her," said Curran, and then to Arthur,
"She can do a little work herself, and likes it."

"To hunt a poor soul down, never!" she cried. "But when a mean thing is
hiding what every one has a right to know, I like to tear the truth out
of her ... like your case of Tom Jones. Sister Claire is downright mean.
Maybe she