Had Carey known exactly the condition of the detective’s mind, he might have hesitated. It was well he did not, and he persisted in his cajoling and pacificatory measures, until the ludicrousness of the situation striking McKenna’s thoughts, he burst into a fit of loud laughter, and consented—as that was the only alternative—to go to his room. But neither of the men slept. One turned and tossed feverishly and uneasily in the bed, and made such a disturbance that the other was no sooner in a blissful slumber than he was as suddenly aroused. At last, in sheer desperation, Carey arose, dressed himself, and the operative was in hopes he would go elsewhere, but he did not. On the contrary, planting the back of the only chair in the room against the closed and bolted door, he leaned backward, resting his head near the latch, and soon slept soundly. It was not until nearly sunrise that McKenna, almost crazy with excitement and suspense, was left to himself. Then Carey had to get his breakfast and be off to the colliery. It was now too late for McKenna to act, had he been bodily able, and he sunk down, helpless, on his pillow, perfectly exhausted; and deep lethargy came to his physical and mental relief. After breakfast, the morning of the 28th—a meal that, strange to say, the operative ate with a better appetite than usual—he went to his room to prepare a report. Carefully locking the door, and hanging his hat over the keyhole, which he had a shrewd suspicion the chambermaid was in the habit of interviewing occasionally, to find out, if possible, the business in which he was engaged while fastened within, he seated himself at the table and started to write. That hat was a terrible eyesore to the aforesaid maid-of-all-work, and she wondered many a time, as she subsequently confessed, “How it was that McKenna made his room so dark, exceptin’ he were holding converse with the devil!” [Illustration: “_‘We fixed him just as he came into the colliery stable!_’”] It was light enough in the room for the detective, however, and the felt hat sufficed to keep prying eyes from discovering his employment. On this particular occasion the agent was doomed to disappointment, as he had hardly begun his highly important correspondence when he beheld Mike Doyle coming toward the house. Hastily throwing the writing materials into his valise, and carefully securing that depository, he unlocked his door and patiently waited, knowing that Doyle would probably wish to see him alone. In this supposition he was right, as the man soon afterward climbed wearily up the stairs. Doyle occupied a seat. McKenna once more shut the door, and, as soon as his visitor was a little rested, asked: “Well, Mike, I suppose ye have missed him again?” “No! We fixed him jist as he came into the colliery stable!” “An’ is that thrue?” inquired the detective, trying to appear cool and indifferent.