He had a good reputation among people generally, but then this counted as little. Much dross might be taken for pure gold did not the assayer apply his tests. That was what Darrell did—looked into each man’s private character, unknown to the individual under the scrutiny. He seemed to take it for granted that the artist would come out, and in this he appeared to make no mistake. Sure enough Prescott appeared. He was evidently off for the evening, but did not dress as though he meant to spend it in fashionable society. Darrell followed him to a certain club where artists were wont to congregate, and here the other seemed quite a favorite. At half-past eleven Prescott left this place. He did not head toward home. On the contrary he seemed ill at ease, and looked around him once or twice as though he were afraid lest some of his fellows at the club should be near. This action in itself was suspicious to Eric—it indicated that the artist had certain habits which he desired to keep a secret even from those who would have thought the least of it. Darrell’s curiosity was at once aroused. He realized that now the game would probably be worth the hunting. At any rate, since the opportunity was now given him, he was determined to learn more about the artist than he had known before. Paul Prescott headed down town, boarding a Third Avenue street car near Fourteenth Street. On the same car, out in front, stood Eric, enjoying the bracing night air. He could see without being seen, and managed to keep an eye on the artist. When he saw the other finally rise he knew he was about to leave the car, and the detective forestalled him. Once on the pavement he waited for his man and then shadowed him. Darrell was not greatly surprised at what he learned—the place he entered was an opium joint, kept by a Chinaman and an American in partnership, probably the largest about town. Here a good class of customers were wont to resort, and among others several actors, a doctor, a well known jurist, a writer, together with several women, whose attire and jewelry proved them to belong to the upper circle. Many a man’s history received a downward impetus dating from the hour he first entered this den of iniquity. Darrell knew it well. He had been in it a number of times in the course of the last year—those whom he hunted had come here. A clerk had robbed his employer for money to pay the opium fiend—once the habit gains full sway and the victim will do anything on earth in order to get money to pay for a few pipes and an hour of the peculiar drunken fancy. Knowing the ropes was of assistance to the detective now. He went in, and assuming the eager, trembling manner of an habitue demanded a bunk and a pipe. All the while he used his eyes. The room was supplied with lounges and settees—the usual bunks were in another apartment where the Chinese and cheaper grade of smokers could indulge their pet vice for a smaller sum.