"She seemed to know things weren't quite right with you. She's a bad lot, that girl, but she has a good heart. She asked where you lived." "You didn't tell her, I hope," exclaimed Laura hurriedly. "Yes, I did," answered the advance man doggedly. "Why shouldn't I?" "I'm sorry," she said. "She's the last woman in the world I want to see. I never want to see her again. If she calls I won't see her." Glancing at the clock, she added: "I must be going. What are you doing here?" Weston smiled grimly. "Wasting time, I guess. Quiller said there might be something to-day. He's said the same every day for three months past." "Well, I must go," she said. "Good-bye, I'll probably see you at the house." "Yes," he nodded. "Maybe there'll be some good news to tell you, but I doubt it." The girl disappeared and Jim resumed his seat, patiently awaiting his turn to see Mr. Quiller. CHAPTER X. Mrs. Farley's establishment was situated on Forty ----th Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, a neighborhood at one time much in vogue, but now given up almost entirely to boarding-houses of the cheaper kind. Old-fashioned brownstone residences, with high ceilings, cracked walls, dirty, paper-patched windows, and narrow little gardens choked up with weeds, they were as unattractive-looking from without as they were gloomy and destitute of comfort within. Yet poverty-stricken as were the surroundings, the street itself was respectable enough. As in the case of a homely woman, its very ugliness served to keep its morals above reproach. Vice required more alluring quarters than these for profitable pursuit of its red-light trade. If, therefore, a woman stood in need of a certificate of character, all that was necessary was to say that she lived there.