Miss Jennings gave vent to one of her harshest laughs.

“Jim Denton is a wicked young man,” she said very slowly.  “He cares no more for Maggie than he does for lots of the others, but she’s such a fool she can’t see it, and that shows, of course, that she’s pretty badly gone on him.”

“You mean that she loves him?” questioned Faith, who was not very familiar with shop-girl slang.

“Well, you can’t call it love, exactly,” explained Miss Jennings, “but it’s the best she’s got.  She thinks she loves him.”

The girls had walked a couple of blocks and were waiting for a car.  They were glad to find that they lived near each other.  The same street car would land them a short distance from their homes, which were modest flats in the cheapest portion of Harlem.

As they hailed the car, Faith’s quick eye caught a glimpse of a man who seemed to be following them.

As he sprang on the rear platform of the car she called her companion’s attention to him.

“It’s Bob Hardy, one of our detectives,” said Miss Jennings, wonderingly.  “Why, he lives in Jersey.  He must be following somebody.”

Faith looked at her a moment before she spoke again.

“I wonder if there is any truth in what that girl said about the robbery in the office.  I’ve been thinking of it ever since.  She looked at me so funny!  And see, Mary, that detective is watching me, too, he has hardly taken his eyes off me since we entered the car.  It can’t be possible that they think I took the money, can it?  You know I was in the office early yesterday morning.”

She spoke so timidly that Miss Jennings gave her a sharp glance.  Then she turned involuntarily and looked at the detective.

“God help you if Hardy is after you,” she whispered with a shudder.  “That fellow is a fiend about making arrests.  He’d accuse his own mother of stealing, I believe, if he thought he could win the regard of old Forbes by doing it!”

CHAPTER VIII.

A fiendish proposition.

When Faith left the car Bob Hardy followed her.  He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he was watching her, and when Faith had reached the middle of a block of vacant lots he quickened his steps and was soon beside her.

“Just a minute, miss,” he said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

Faith wheeled around and confronted him with cold dignity.

“Well, what do you wish with me, sir?” she asked quietly.  “I noticed that you were following me.  Have you had orders to do so?”

“Not exactly, miss,” said the detective, a little disconcertedly, “but you are in a pretty bad fix over that money affair, and I just thought I’d put you on your guard as a sort of favor.”

“What?”

Faith’s voice fairly vibrated with indignation.  “Explain yourself, sir.  I do not understand you?”