: HER MOTHER'S JEWEL-BOX
At the New Willard. Awaiting two articles--Oliver's picture and a
few lines in the judge's writing requesting his son's immediate
return. Meanwhile, I have made no secret of my reason for being
here. All my inquiries at the desk have shown it to be
particularly connected with a certain bill now before Congress, in
which Shelby is vitally interested.
Perhaps I can further the interests of this bill in off minutes. I
am willing to.
The picture is here, as well as the name of the hotel where the
two women are staying. I have spent five minutes studying the face
I must be able to recognise at first glance in any crowd. It's not
a bad face; I can see his mother's looks in him. But it is not the
face I used to know. Trouble develops a man.
There's a fellow here who rouses my suspicions. No one knows him;-
-I don't myself. But he's strangely interested in me. If he's from
Shelby--in other words, if he's from the detective bureau there,
I've led him a chase to-day which must have greatly bewildered
him. I'm not slow, and I'm not above mixing things. From the Cairo
where our present congressman lives, I went to the Treasury, then
to the White House, and then to the Smithsonian--with a few
newspaper offices thrown in, and some hotels where I took pains
that my interviews should not be too brief. When quite satisfied
that by these various and somewhat confusing peregrinations I had
thrown off any possible shadower, I fetched up at the Library
where I lunched.
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