“hotel” until daylight, if she had to supply the drinks and other comfortables at her own expense. It was not difficult to win over the Mollies to remain and “keep off the _banshee_,” if she only put out the overflowing noggin with a generous hand. And this she did. To the credit of the widow be it said, the love of drink and indulgence in gossip were among the worst of her failings. In every other regard she was considered a respectable and honorable member of her kind of society. During the repetition of these hair-raising and blood-curdling fabrications, given in the detective’s best vein, the Mollies habitually and involuntarily threw off reserve and spoke boastfully of their own adventures, not forgetting deeds they had recently participated in. Through this action McKenna received many a hint that he could use and improve upon when the time came. It was easy, under such circumstances, to obtain the confidence of the most hardened of the brotherhood. The night spoken of, McAndrew, Ed Ferguson, and McKenna, with several more of the gang, were at Wiggan’s Patch, and, returning to Shenandoah, the proposition was made to wake up the widow and take a drink in her shop. Accordingly, Ferguson knocked loudly at the rickety door. “Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice from within. “Sure, it’s Ed Ferguson, and some friends! Let us in, Mrs. Monaghan!” “All right!” said the lady, and in a few moments the fastenings of the entrance were undone and the party entered, warmly welcomed by the landlady, who, from the prevalent heat of the night and sudden advent of her visitors, had not donned any perceptible amount of clothing, but proceeded to help them to liquor with the grace of a mermaid in its native element, without even unfastening the strings of her dingy night-cap. There was a feebly-burning lamp on the counter, which illuminated the room, for it was by no means a large place, showing the simple array of bottles on the shelves, the bed, and other scanty furniture. But there was more in the apartment than, at first glance, the operative was willing to believe. Seeing that Ferguson was moving uneasily about, Mrs. Monaghan said: “Have a care, Ed Ferguson! Mind where ye put down your two big fate, and don’t step on me chickens, plaze!” Having taken their drinks and paid for them, the men were in for a lark, and Ferguson, knowing some of the peculiarities of the widow, proceeded to make a search for curiosities—and he found them. At the same time the detective was nearly dead with the foul and fetid atmosphere filling the unventilated basement. “What have we here?” said Ferguson, who, while groping around where Bridget said “he had no business”—under the bed—had caught somebody by the naked feet. “A human being, as I live! And a woman at that!”