“No; I told her that I couldn’t see my way clear to do so. You see, I’ve had heavy expenses lately, and, anyway, I have----” “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Sammis,” Sheridan interrupted hotly. “Whatever that poor little girl has done, in her desperation, you’re responsible for.” He strode indignantly out of the place, more discouraged than ever. Matters were getting worse and worse. Everything seemed to point to Dallas’ guilt. He went once more to the girl’s boarding house, hoping against hope that he might find her there, although he knew very well that his errand would be in vain. “Heard anything from Miss Worthington?” he inquired of the landlady. “Nothing at all, Mr. Sheridan. There was somebody from her place of employment inquiring about her half an hour ago. Ain’t it queer that she should have disappeared like this?” “I’d like to go upstairs to her room,” said Owen, an idea suddenly striking him. “Well, I don’t know about that, Mr. Sheridan,” said the landlady. “It seems to me it would scarcely be proper----” She stopped short as her astonished gaze fell upon the shining badge which Owen suddenly displayed. “I’m not here in a personal capacity, Mrs. O’Brien,” he said. “I’m here as a representative of the United States government, and I demand the privilege of inspecting Miss Worthington’s room.” “Well, I never!” exclaimed the woman. “The United States government! Dear me, what can it all mean? Why, certainly, Mr. Sheridan. Under those circumstances, will you please step this way?” Owen followed her upstairs, feeling almost ashamed of himself that he was offering this indignity to the girl he was going to make his wife. But it had occurred to him that perhaps in Dallas’ room he might find some clew to her present whereabouts, and he was determined to find her. And the very first thing his gaze fell upon as he entered the room was a waste-paper basket, in which were the pieces of a torn pink envelope. There were only four pieces, and it was an easy matter for Owen to put them together and to read the address. He uttered a groan of anguish and despair as he did so. The pink envelope, the stamp of which had not been canceled, was addressed in a man’s handwriting to the person in Pennsylvania to whom the Reverend Doctor Moore had mailed the hundred-dollar note. It was no longer possible to doubt that Dallas was guilty of robbing the United States mails. CHAPTER XIX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. Convinced now of the girl’s guilt, Owen Sheridan was walking dejectedly out of the room, when suddenly he remembered that he had not carried out his intention of searching for some clew as to Dallas’ whereabouts. He returned to the waste-paper basket, which was half full of litter, and emptied its contents on the floor. Some fragments of paper with blue printing on them caught his eye. He recognized them as being parts of the top of a telegraph blank.