"Glory be!" Mr. O'Leary gasped, horrified on two counts. First, because he revered his young boss, and, second, because the latter's death might nullify his opportunity to become foreman of the loading-sheds and drying-yard. "Sure, what's happened to the poor bhoy?" Before Daney could answer, a terrible suspicion shot through the agile and imaginative O'Leary brain. In common with several million of his countrymen, he always voiced the first thought that popped into his head; so he lowered that member, likewise his voice, peered cunningly into Andrew Daney's haggard face, and whispered: "Don't tell me he tried to commit suicide, what wit' his poor broken heart an' all!" It was Andrew Daney's turn to peer suspiciously at Dirty Dan. For a few seconds, they faced each other like a pair of belligerent game-cocks. Then said Daney: "How do you know his heart was broken?" Dirty Dan didn't know. The thought hadn't even occurred to him until ten seconds before; yet, from the solemnity of Daney's face and manner, he knew instantly that once more his feet were about to tread the trails of romance, and the knowledge imbued him with a deep sense of importance. He winked knowingly. "Beggin' yer pardon, Misther Daney an' not m'anin' the least offinse in life, but--I know a lot about that young man--yis, an' the young leddy, too--that divil a sowl on earth knows or is goin' to find out." He tried a shot in the dark. "That was a clever bit o' wurrk gettin' her out o' Port Agnew--" Andrew Daney's hands closed about Dirty Dan's collar, and he was jerked violently into the latter's office, while Daney closed and locked the door behind them. The general manager was white and trembling. "You damned, cunning mick, you!" he cried, in a low voice. "I believe you're right. You do know a lot about this affair--" "Well, if I do, I haven't talked about it," Dirty Dan reminded him with asperity. "You knew the girl had left Port Agnew and why, do you not?" Daney demanded. "Of course I do. She left to plaze The Laird an' get rid o' the young fella. Whether Th' Laird paid her to go or not, I don't know, but I'll say this: 'If he gave her anythin' at all, 'twas damned little.'" "He didn't give her a red cent," Daney protested. "I believe you, sor," Mr. O'Leary assured him, as solemn as a Supreme Court justice. "I judged so be the way she traveled an' the hotel she shtopped at." Daney made another dive at the returned prodigal, but Mr. O'Leary evaded him. "Where did she travel, and what hotel did she put up at?" the general manager demanded. "She traveled to the same places an' put up at the same hotels that I did," Dirty Dan replied evasively, for his natural love for intrigue bade him hoard his secret to the last. Daney sat down and said very quietly: "Dan, do you know where Nan Brent may be found?" "Where she _may_ be found? Faith, I can tell you where she can be found--but I'll not." "Why not?"