"The old man seems to be strictly on the level," he was saying. "He attends to his own affairs and seems to be running a legitimate business in his little shop, where he prints and sells maps. I went there, of course, to look it over, but I couldn't see anything crooked about it. However, when I left, I took a wax impression of the lock, in case you wanted me to have a key made and institute a more thorough investigation, at a time when I would not be disturbed." "That's good, Morrow. We may need to do that later. At present I want you merely to keep an eye on them, and note who their visitors are. You've been talking with the girl you say--the daughter?" "Yes, sir--" The young man paused in sudden confusion. "She's a very quiet, respectable, proud sort of young woman, Mr. Blaine--not at all the kind you would expect to find the daughter of an old crook like Jimmy Brunell. And by the way, here's a funny coincidence! She's a protegee of Miss Lawton's, employed in some philanthropic home or club, as she calls it, which Pennington Lawton's daughter runs." "By Jove!" Blaine exclaimed, "I might have known it! I thought there was something familiar about her appearance when I first saw her! No wonder Miss Lawton had promised not to divulge her name. It's a small world, Morrow. I'll have to look into this. Go back now and keep your eye on Jimmy." "Very well, sir." Guy Morrow paused at the door and turned toward his chief. "Have you seen the late editions of the evening papers, Mr. Blaine? They're all slamming you, for refusing to accept the call to Grafton, to investigate those bomb outrages last night." Henry Blaine smiled. "There won't be any more of them," he remarked quietly. "That strike will die down as quickly as it arose, Morrow; the whole thing was a plant, and the labor leaders and factory owners themselves were merely tools in the hands of the politicians. That strike was arranged by our friend Timothy Carlis, to get me away from Illington on a false mission." "You don't think, sir, that they suspect--" "No, but they are taking no chances on my getting into the game. They don't suspect yet, but they will soon--because the time has come for us to get busy." CHAPTER VII THE LETTER The next morning, when Ramon Hamilton presented himself at Henry Blaine's office in answer to the latter's summons, he found the great detective in a mood more nearly bordering upon excitability than he could remember having witnessed before. Instead of being seated calmly at his desk, his thoughts masked with his usual inscrutable imperturbability, Blaine was pacing restlessly back and forth with the disquietude, not of agitation, but of concentrated, ebullient energy.