At Tamaqua, the operative whispered in the ears of his Mollie acquaintances that it seemed necessary, from certain reasons—two of the same being Buffalo detectives—that he should keep dark and well away from Shenandoah, for a short season. He was free to say he did not relish being carried back to Buffalo in irons, as he certainly would be if the officers found him. From the same cause he refused to appear very often in public, kept his room much during the day—to sleep and write, in reality—only coming out after nightfall and joining the Mollies in Carroll’s or at other haunts and meeting places. At the Columbia House, where he made his temporary home, he met a man named Miller, an old acquaintance, who told him the city had fairly swarmed with detectives, representing all parts of the country, dating from the occurrence of the Yost murder. It was thought that suspicion pointed to Kerrigan and Duffy as actors in the case. The operative kept his own counsel, saying he “guessed all the detectives in Pennsylvania would not be able to fix the crime upon any one in particular!” Sunday, the twenty-sixth of July—twenty days subsequent to the murder—McKenna met Carroll in the evening, at his house, and after some drinks, the saloon-keeper took the agent aside and confided to him that, while the latter was absent at Storm Hill, detectives had been there to see him, Carroll—one claiming to be a mechanic in search of employment, and saying Gus McAffee, a Scotchman, working in a foundry, was an old friend. His name was Hendrick. Carroll laughed at the gawky acts of the pretended workman—but, as he believed, actual detective—and reported that he would appear in his, Carroll’s saloon, every day, treat all hands, and never drink anything but beer, himself. The fact that he pretended to be “temperance,” while he gave others strong liquor, excited the tavern-keeper’s suspicions at once, and, as a natural result, Hendrick left, with the hint that his calling was known and he had been looking in the wrong place. The same word was taken to McAffee. Beside, the detective wore two or three different kinds of hats. Another followed. He made nothing out of Carroll, but was bluntly informed that he was a detective. A third fellow came and took Kerrigan to a saloon and got him very drunk, but made nothing in the way of solving the mystery. “I can tell you,” concluded Carroll, warming up and gaining confidence in McKenna, “the night the Yost job was to be done, I had loaned my pistol to a man in Tuscarora, an’ the boys brought but one between them, an’ I was forced to give them an old, single-barrel, breech-loading one that I had!” “That wor not much in the way of weapons to undertake such a thing wid!” suggested McKenna.