Darrell was satisfied. He had made his point. Soon after Joe bade him good evening, and hurried away. It was not far from five o’clock. Darrell snatched a disguise from a hook and changed his appearance in one minute. All he wanted was to effect such a change that Joe might not recognize him. Then he left the office and bolted down stairs after his friend. Joe was discovered in the crowd, making his way toward the elevated station, and knowing his destination Darrell arrived there first. They got in the same car. At this time in the evening it was pretty crowded and both had to stand up. At Twenty-seventh Street a number left the train and those we follow with the rest. Darrell observed Joe eagerly consult his watch. “He’s late this evening and no doubt expects a scolding,” was his mental comment upon seeing the frown upon Joe’s usually good-natured face. The giant walked along so fast that Eric could hardly keep his place behind him. They approached the fatal number. Truly Joe acted like a guilty wretch—he glanced up and down the street as if to make sure no acquaintance was passing. Deception was a novelty to him—this was the first time Darrell had ever seen his friend acting in a mean role. When they reached the steps Joe ascended them, took a key out of his pocket and deliberately opened the front door. The detective was passing at the time, but his quick glance failed to reveal anything of interest. Evening was coming on, and the shadows of the approaching night had evidently gathered in the hall of the house—he could just see the glass globe of the hanging gas jet in the hall, but it was not lighted. For that matter there was no light about the house at all, though the neighbors were beginning to illuminate their houses. Passing down the street a little distance, Eric Darrell crossed over, and came up the other side. He now noticed that there was a light in the second story front room, though almost ready to swear it had not been there previous to the entrance of the proprietor. The inside blinds were closed in such a way that Darrell could see nothing. He was deeply interested. Whatever this strange mystery attached to Joe’s daily visit here might mean, Darrell could not forget that the other was his friend. He would act as a surgeon might when one whom he regarded highly was brought before him for attention—his fingers would be very tender, but the cruel knife must do its duty. He was walking slowly along when he almost ran into a female who stood on the edge of the pavement opposite the house. Her black attire and the veil she wore attracted his attention immediately. Besides, she was looking upward toward the windows where the glimmer of light could be seen. A suspicion flashed into his mind. He touched the arm of the lady in black. “Lillian—Mrs. Leslie,” he said in a low voice. A cry came from under the veil. “Who speaks to me?” gasped the lady.