"The turkey!" he said to himself--"the turkey! Those fellows were talking about him; they were not talking about me. Anarchists, I suppose, have Thanksgiving dinners the same as any one else. Why, one man spoke of wringing his neck--it's the turkey, of course." And then he wished he had listened longer to hear more. He was about to return to the stove-pipe hole for this purpose when there was the noisiest kind of hubbub downstairs. He heard yells and shouts and scuffling, and the tramping of many feet; as if an army of men had gotten into a fight. He could not make out what this was, and wondered if his captors had quarrelled and come to blows. This fracas lasted about five minutes, and then there was comparative silence. Ten minutes later the door of his room was thrown open, and Fred found himself face to face with a stranger of athletic build. "Well, young fellow," said his deliverer, "I guess you've got all you want of interviewing anarchists. Come along down stairs and thank your stars you are getting out alive." When Fred reached the floor below he found Renard and the German and the sailor handcuffed, and in charge of five detectives. The house had been raided; and most opportunely, thought Fred. The young reporter soon learned that the police had been after Renard for many months, and had finally located him in the house on Staten Island about two weeks before the raid. They were watching the house when they heard of Fred's making inquiries of the watchman; and fearing newspaper exposure would lead to the escape of the criminals the detectives decided to make the raid the very next day. And it is fortunate they did, for on the way to the jail Fred talked with the woman who was being taken along, too; and he told her how he had been scared by the conversation he overheard about the turkey. "The turkey?" said the woman. "Yes," continued Fred; "one of the men said he would kill him in the good old-fashioned way by wringing his neck." The woman glanced at Fred in surprise. "Did you hear that?" she said. "Yes," laughed Fred. "Well, you need not laugh, young man, because _you_ were the turkey they were talking about. That Renard is a devil; _he_ has brought my husband to this." The morning of Thanksgiving day the _Gazette_ "beat" every other newspaper in town with an exclusive report of the capture of the dangerous anarchist Renard, who had been manufacturing bombs in a house on Staten Island. And that night Fred dined with his family at their home up the Hudson, and told them much that did not appear in his printed account of the affair. IN THE TOWER OF MANY STORIES. BY MRS. LEW. WALLACE. THE LITTLE PRINCES. [Illustration: THE BLOODY TOWER.]