Then again about his income—no wonder he did not know how he stood if he had to keep two separate establishments running. They might do that economically out in Salt Lake City among the Mormons but it is quite an expensive luxury in New York. So the detective made his way down to Twenty-third Street and entering a dairy kitchen where a thousand were being served to the music of an orchestra, had his dinner. He took his time over it, read the evening paper, and when he finally passed out it was well on to eight o’clock. Then he smoked a cigar and watched the passers by for half an hour more. Then he sauntered away. At nine o’clock he found himself one of a little crowd gathered at the door of a hall. A masquerade was to take place here, and as carriage after carriage drove up, depositing nymphs and devils, cavaliers and knights, upon the pavement, the crowd laughed in a good-natured way. Some of the rougher element might have indulged in jeers or remarks that would have brought on trouble, but for their fear of the law, which was represented by two stalwart policemen, armed with their long night sticks which are a dread to the heathen of the slums. Darrell was interested too, and stood with the rest, looking on. While thus engaged, a gentleman and lady left a hack and walked toward the entrance. He represented a Spanish bull fighter, and with his splendid figure made a remarkably good _matador_, while his companion, as a lady of cards, caused a ripple of admiration among the lookers-on. Both were fully masked, and, having wraps over their costumes, only a portion of the latter were seen; but it was evident that the lady was possessed of a lovely figure, her arms were rounded and perfect, while her neck, glimpses of which could be seen, was dazzlingly white, and royally built. Darrell looked at her with interest. Then his eyes fell on her escort. He started. Surely that figure was owned by none other than Joe Leslie. What was he doing at the ball? Was this his wife? Of course it must be—the figure and beautiful neck corresponded with what Darrell remembered of Mrs. Leslie. Still, he could not help but think it odd, even at that brief moment, for Joe to bring his lovely wife here to this ball. True, it was a respectable affair, and many good people attended it, but none of the first families in New York would dream of being seen at the public masquerade—at least if they came they went away without unmasking. As the couple passed him he could not resist saying aloud: “Hallo! Joe!” The man seemed to start, and muttered something to his companion, at which she laughed, but he did not look around to see who had spoken. Others were following them. Darrell stood a while longer, and then left the scene. Somehow or other he was troubled—he knew not exactly why.