thoughts that with sudden unhappy doubt I wondered if Kinney, too, had felt the charm of the beautiful lady. But he quickly undeceived me.     

       “I have been doing a little detective work,” he said. His voice was low and sepulchral. “And I have come upon a real adventure. There are reasons why I cannot share it with you, but as it develops you can follow it. About half an hour ago,” he explained, “I came here to get my pipe. The window was open. The lattice was only partly closed. Outside was that young man from Harvard who tried to make my acquaintance, and the young Englishman who came on board with that blonde.” Kinney suddenly interrupted himself. “You were talking to her just now,” he said. I hated to hear him speak of the Irish lady as “that blonde.” I hated to hear him speak of her at all. So, to shut him off, I answered briefly: “She asked me about the Singer Building.”      

       “I see,” said Kinney. “Well, these two men were just outside my window, and, while I was searching for my pipe, I heard the American speaking. He was very excited and angry. ‘I tell you,’ he said, ‘every boat and railroad station is watched. You won’t be safe till we get away from New York. You must go to your cabin, and STAY there.’ And the other one answered: ‘I am sick of hiding and dodging.’”      

       Kinney paused dramatically and frowned.     

       “Well,” I asked, “what of it?”      

       “What of it?” he cried. He exclaimed aloud with pity and impatience.     

       “No wonder,” he cried, “you never have adventures. Why, it’s plain as print. They are criminals escaping. The Englishman certainly is escaping.”      

       I was concerned only for the lovely lady, but I asked: “You mean the Irishman called Stumps?”      

       “Stumps!” exclaimed Kinney. “What a strange name. Too strange to be true. It’s an alias!” I was incensed that Kinney should charge the friends of the lovely lady with being criminals. Had it been any one else I would have at once resented it, but to be angry with Kinney is difficult. I could not help but remember that he is the slave of his own imagination. It plays tricks and runs away with him. And if it leads him to believe innocent people are criminals, it also leads him to believe that 

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