"I guessed," Barry returned quietly. "Look here, Jimmy," he went on, in a low, vibrant tone. "I’m going to tell you something which I haven’t spoken of to a soul to-night. I’m doing this because I need your help—badly. A young girl is in trouble. She’s been carried off by some men whom she’s never harmed in any way, and I’ve got to get her back—I’ve simply got to! That fellow who gave you the letter at the Merton House is one of the gang. That’s why I want to know what he looks like. That’s why I’m sure you’re going to tell me everything you can, for he’s a scoundrel, Jimmy, nothing less; and no decent man would try to shield him once he knew how bad he was." For the second time the boy looked straight into Barry’s eyes. His face was still flushed, but there was upon it an expression of intense, overpowering interest. "Is that straight, mister?" he demanded excitedly. Jimmy had always pined to be mixed up in some really big crime, but this was the nearest he had come to realizing his dream. "You ain’t stringin’ me?" "I’m telling you the solemn truth," Lawrence returned seriously. "If the reporters got on to it, there’d be the biggest kind of excitement in the newspapers. She’s the niece of Mrs. Wilmerding; one of the richest women in New York, you know." The youngster’s eyes were popping out by this time, but he still seemed to hesitate. "He gimme a dollar," he explained doubtfully, "an’ I promised——" "I wouldn’t worry about that," Lawrence interposed. "He had no right to make you promise to keep still about a crime." "Then I’ll tell you," the boy burst out impulsively; and, with a long breath, he plunged into a recital which Barry had no doubt was the truth this time. He had been called to the desk at six-five, and told to report to Mr. George Brown in the lobby of the Merton House. On arriving, he had not even had to inquire at the desk for that person. A man had hurried up to him as he entered the door, and, drawing him to one side, handed him a sealed letter addressed to Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding on Fifth Avenue. It must be delivered at once, the stranger said; then, when he had paid the boy and Jimmy was turning to leave, he produced a dollar bill, and told the messenger that, if any inquiries were made, he was not to tell anything. The man was tall and slim, with dark hair and eyes, and wore a silk hat. Jimmy pronounced him altogether a decided swell. "He told me it was a joke, an’ he didn’t want the parties to get wise to him," the boy concluded; "but I kinda thought it was something different from that." "It was—very different," Barry said thoughtfully. He was searching his memory for any possible recollection of such an individual, but in vain. "You’re all to the good, Jimmy, and I can’t tell you how much obliged I am. I’d like to give you——" "I don’t want nothin’," the youngster broke in decidedly. "You jest give my name right to the reporters, that’s all."