The youthful philosopher won a chorus of approval. All the girls liked Winifred. They even tacitly admitted that she belonged to a different order, and seldom teased her. Fowle's obvious admiration, however, imposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely. The luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They patronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she purchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for every cent of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely forbidden newspapers! But this forlorn girl, who knew so little of the great city in whose life she was such an insignificant item, felt oddly concerned in "The Yacht Mystery." It was the first noteworthy event of which she had even a remote first-hand knowledge. That empty launch, its very abandonment suggesting eeriness and fatality, was a tangible thing. Was she not one of the few who had literally seen it? So she invested her penny, and after reading of the discovery of the boat--it was found moored to a wharf at the foot of Fort Lee--breathlessly read: As the outcome of information given by a well-known Senator, the police have obtained an important clue which leads straight to a house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street. "Well," mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. "Fancy that! The very street where I live!" She read on: The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be clearer. Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower's body, which, it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the river near the spot where the boat was tied. Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no heed to it. The checker tapped at his little window as she passed. "The boss wants you," he said. "Me!" she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had already probably lost her situation! "Yep," said the man. "You're Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if there's another peach like you in the bunch I haven't seen her." She bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff Cerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper: "There's a cop in there, an' a 'tec,' too." Winifred was startled out of her forebodings. "They cannot want me!" she said amazedly. "You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn't bat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself."