“I wonder what the deuce has got into him, anyway,” he muttered.  “He talks like a man that’s got struck with religion!”

As he walked slowly down the stairs to the first floor of the building he met a brother detective, who stared at him curiously.

“What’s the matter, Hardy?  Look’s if you’d had a shock!  Been havin’ a set-to with old Forbes, I’ll bet a dollar!”

“You’re wrong,” was Hardy’s answer.  “It was the old man this time.  There’s something wrong with the boss.  I think he’s getting religion!”

“Get out!  You don’t mean it!” said the other fellow, contemptuously.

“Don’t I?” said Hardy.  “Well, you just listen to this!”

He repeated the conversation that had just taken place in the superintendent’s office.

“Whew!  That does sound like it!” said his companion, whose name was Ben Tyler.  “He’s off his trolley completely, especially about the money!”

“Well, that makes two trow-downs I’ve got this week,” said Hardy, sourly, “but I got the fifty from that masher that I was telling you about!  You remember, the swell that calls himself Captain Deering?”

“Yes, I remember,” laughed Tyler.  “So he caught his bird, did he, or, rather, you caught her for him!”

“I guess it worked all right,” said Hardy, slowly.  “He met her and talked with her, and that’s usually enough.  Still, he was glum as an oyster when he gave me the money.”

“Mr. Hardy,” called a voice at the foot of the stairs.  “Come down, quick; you are wanted!  There’s a shop-lifter over in the hosiery department!”

Mr. Hardy stopped long enough to hear the words, then he made his way directly to the department mentioned.

He paused at the counter and began examining some goods, and as he did so one of the clerks came up to him as though she expected to wait on him.

“Is this the one?” muttered the detective under his breath, at the same time making a slight motion toward the woman.

“Can’t say,” whispered the clerk.  “I just missed the goods.  There were six pairs of hose—­they all went together.”

Hardy glanced again at the woman, whose face was drawn and haggard.  She was by far the poorest customer at the counter.

“‘Taint’s no use tacklin’ them others,” he whispered to the clerk, “for if I ever nabbed a rich one she’d make things lively for me—­but I guess it’s the poor one that’s got ’em, anyway.”

“She looks desperate,” answered the clerk, leaning over the counter.  “And, you know, she could sell ’em and make a little something.”

Hardy nodded knowingly, with his keen glance still on the woman.  As she moved slowly away from the counter he followed her at a distance.

Five minutes later she had reached the ribbon department.  As she stopped at the counter Faith went forward to wait on her.

“I would like a yard of white ribbon, miss,” said the poor woman timidly.  “This cheap ribbon, please, for I haven’t much money.  It’s to go on the shroud of a poor dead neighbor.”