"They've got that fellow Bailey's body," the lieutenant remarked. "There was an unmailed letter in his pocket addressed to some woman. They're sending it down." A messenger soon arrived with the expected packet. After the Chief examined it, a look of amazed incredulity overspread his face. "Well, I'll be darned!" he ejaculated. Then he called one of his men, gave the latter a brief message to deliver and told him to go in civilian clothes. "Don't attract any attention," he said, "and fetch her right back with you. Take a cab." An hour or so later, after he had been talking for a long time in his private office with a woman whose identity no one knew, the Chief sent for a notary. And after the latter, as well as the woman had gone, he put papers in the safe which he said would be the means of proving Mollie's identity. Meanwhile the matron was instructed to make the little waifs comfortable for the night. Mollie, alone, refused to be comforted or comfortable. She shivered in her wet clothes and gratefully accepted a policeman's coat in lieu of a jacket, but refused to part with the bottle in which she had thoughtfully carried milk for her "Honey-baby" when they traversed the death-haunted swamps. Bolt upright she sat, listening, listening for the summons which her love and intuition knew would come. It was nearing midnight when the messenger came. Mollie was on her feet instantly. She had never seen James, Wayne's chauffeur, before, but she sensed that he had come for her. "Mr. Wayne sent me down to fetch up the girl, Mollie," said the man. "The baby wants her." Mollie started forward, the bottle that had once contained corn liquor gripped tightly in her hands. A policeman handed her a newspaper. She tore off a piece, wrapped it about the bottle and hurried out the door with the chauffeur. It was not her first ride in an automobile. They had driven up from the river in the police patrol only that afternoon. Before the Wayne residence was reached Mollie had told the chauffeur of the thrilling experience and learned all the principal points of difference between the Wayne limousine and the "black Maria." The car had hardly paused before Mollie was out and running up the steps, brushing past the astonished butler who opened the door, and tearing on through the house as if she had entered it many times before. Straight up the stairs she sped, her queer little figure with its bare feet and legs extending rather startlingly from below a policeman's coat, appearing an incongruous note in the harmony of that stately, sumptuous mansion. The nursery door was open and Mollie, hearing the baby's voice, dashed in. "Muh-Ma-Mollie!" cried the little one, extending her arms and fairly leaping into Mollie's embrace. "She wouldn't take her bottle--she wouldn't do anything," explained the poor little rich girl's father, by way of excuse for having sent for Mollie.