Now, of course, women's scandals are no more of a luxury to a detective than their legs were to the bus-driver of tradition or to any one in knee-skirted 1916. Mr. Hodshon was a good man as good men go, though he was capable of the little dishonesties and compromises with truth that characterize every profession. A man simply cannot succeed as a teacher, lawyer, doctor, merchant, thief, author, scientist, or anything else if he blurts out everything he knows or believes. No preacher could occupy a pulpit for two Sundays who told just what he actually thought or knew or could find out. The detective is equally compelled to manipulate the truth. Hodshon gave his soul to Charity's cause. He outlined the various ways of establishing Cheever's guilt and promised that the agency would keep him shadowed and make a record of all his hours. “It'll take some time to get the goods on 'em good,” he explained, “but there's ways we got. When we learn what we got to know we'll arrange it and tip you off. Then you and me will go to the door and break in on the parties at the right moment, and--” “No, Thank You!” said Charity, with a firm pressure on each word. “You better get some friend to go with us, for a detective needs c'roboration, you know. The courts won't accept a detective's uns'ported testimony. And if you could know what some of these crooks are capable of you wouldn't wonder. Is that all right? We get the goods on 'em and you have a friend ready, and we'll bust in on the parties, and--” “No, thank you!” said Charity, with undiminished enthusiasm. This stumped Mr. Hodshon. She amazed him further. “I don't intend to bring this case into court. I don't want to satisfy any judge but myself.” But what he had said about the credibility of the unsupported detective had set Charity to thinking. It would be folly to pay these curious persons to collect evidence that was worthless when collected. She mused aloud: “Would it be possible--of course it wouldn't--but if it were, what I should like would be to be able to see my hu--Mr. Ch--those two persons without their knowing about it at all. Of course that's impossible, isn't it?” “Well, it was a few years ago, but we can do wonders nowadays. There's the little dictagraph. We could string one up for you and give you the usual stenographic report--or you could go and listen in yourself.” “Could I really?” Charity gasped, and she began to shiver with the frightfulness of the opportunity. “Surest thing you know,” said Hodshon. “But how could you install a dictagraph without their finding it out?” “Easiest thing you know. We'll probably have to rent an apartment in the same building or another one near-by, and--one of the hall-boys there may be workin' for us now. If not, we can usually bring him in. There's a hundred ways to get into a house and put the little dictor behind a picture or somewheres and lead the wire out to us.”