“The agent didn’t know where the chap had gone,” he cried, “but I’ve got a line on him, anyway. Here’s the address of a dealer in electrical supplies, left in a corner on a scrap of paper. We’ll drive straight to the city and look him up.” Down the embankment the way we came, past the Savoy and the Temple, through Queen Victoria Street, and by the Bank to Bishopsgate Street we ran. Dorothy sat beside me on the rear seat of the car, Tom next the driver. All the way in, she gave me hardly a word, scarcely replied to Tom’s occasional chatter. I had never seen her tongue so strangely silent, her cheek so blushed with morning crimson, nor had I ever seen her eyes more deeply thoughtful, more softly beautiful. We drew up before the supply store and Tom hurried in, followed by Dorothy and myself. He wanted some wire of the same type as that last ordered by Mr. Cragent. Could they look up the order and let him have it. Certainly. No difficulty at all. The clerk went back to examine the order book, and I followed by his side. In the little dingy office at the rear stood a high desk, with the tall books above in an ordered row. Down came C. “Cragent, Page 116,” said the index. As the clerk turned to the page, I glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. H. Cragent.” The Chelsea address was crossed out with a line; written below were the words, “9 Cheapside.” That was all I wanted. I nodded to Tom, as he gave a hurried order for the wire, and we were free for the new address. “This is the right one,” said Dorothy quietly, as we left the shop. “How do you know?” asked Tom. “It looks good, I’ll admit, but I don’t see how you can tell.” “I don’t know how I can tell,” answered Dorothy, in low tones, “but I feel sure, this time, as I haven’t before.” In ten minutes we were at the corner nearest to the new address, had left the car, and were walking up the busy street. The sign above the door at 9 Cheapside proclaimed a haberdasher’s shop within. The second story showed a dealer in notions, and the third and fourth held no signs. “There are leads from the power circuit running into the fourth story,” said Tom, as we passed. “Here’s the door. No business cards for anything above the second. Come on, let’s try next door.”