"Oh, yes, we have," said Nick cheerily. "We have made a fine start, and I hope before many days to have ready a pit for Mr. Mannion to fall into. As the matter now stands, we believe him to be the murderer. It's a sure shot that he is. But what evidence have we for the consideration of a jury? The murder was not witnessed. Mannion would deny it; we can't prove it. The robbery is an important side issue, but what evidence is there to show that Mannion was the robber? There is none at hand. All we have are a few facts which, standing alone, would be of small value, and some circumstances of strong weight in the pursuit of an investigation, of doubtful relevancy in trying a case in court. But patience, Mr. Feversham. We are gaining ground every day." The dead man's friend exhibited relief, and when he departed there was hope in his heart. That forenoon Chief Wittman, from San Francisco answered Nick's wire in reference to Mannion in these words: "Mannion discharged San Quentin prison, forgery, four months ago. Was thick with Cora Reesey before woman left for St. Louis." One statement in the telegram Nick at the time passed over lightly, for its significance then was not apparent. Illumination was to come later, but the association of Mannion with Cora Reesey, the woman murdered in St. Louis, furnished food for thought. The discovery of the bank-note, taken in connection with Mannion's intimacy with the woman who had possession of it, and others, at the time she was killed, was presumptive evidence that he robbed the body. Goloff, the Russian, had been connected with the San Francisco case in which Cora Reesey had figured, and it was probable that Mannion had made the man's acquaintance in San Francisco, as it was also probable that the two men had come East together. Patsy, who had started out early on a lone stunt, showed a bright, eager face to the great detective shortly before noon. "It's lucky you fixed me this morning, Mr. Carter," he said, with an expression of profound satisfaction. Nick smiled inwardly. He knew his skilful young assistant had found something. "Why, Patsy?" "Because, with the stuff in my pocket, I was able to make good at a critical time. With the bones you gave me I made change for a big, green fellow. You see, it was this way"--hurrying on before Nick could interrupt--"I was playing bootblack this morning on the sidewalk in front of Lafayette Square, when a nobby sport with a dark face and a black mustache walks out of the White House grounds and crosses over to me. 'Shine?' says I. 'Sure.' he chirps, and I goes ahead and does my work on his patent leathers. When I gets through the top-lofty guinea flips a century rag in my face. Thought he'd faze me, maybe. But he didn't. I fazed him. I changed the bill, though it reduced me to cases." "Well?" looking, at Patsy quizzically.