His son
was dying and he had to go home. Since then there had nothing been done
about the robbery."
Faith drew a long breath after the young man finished.
"So appearances are against me," she said, with a sigh. "I am at the
mercy of a rascal like that detective, Hardy."
Mr. Watkins said nothing, but he was as pale as death. When he tried to
comfort her the words nearly choked him.
Faith saw it and pitied him even while she wondered. A few moments later
she bade him a cordial "good-night." If there was any suspicion in her
heart it did not show in her manner.
She was walking slowly home from the grocery, plunged in the most
serious thought, when a well-dressed man of middle age appeared suddenly
before her.
"I beg pardon, miss," he said, raising his hat, "but I am a stranger in
this neighborhood and am looking for a certain number. If you live about
here perhaps you will kindly direct me."
"I will, with pleasure, sir. What number do you wish?" asked Faith.
As she spoke she paused directly in the glare of a gas lamp.
As the light fell on her face the stranger stopped abruptly.
"By Jove! What luck!" he cried, gayly. "The very angel I was thinking
of!"
"What do you mean, sir!" cried Faith, who was now thoroughly frightened.
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