“Mrs. Regan’s Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana.  Break it to her as mercifully as possible.  He is a bad one.  We make no charge.  The truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother’s house, Leonia, New Jersey.  Tell him to be less pig-headed or she’ll go for good some day.  Ten dollars.  Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut.  She may notify the police whenever she wishes.  His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues’ Gallery.  Five hundred dollars.  Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the coffee business.  If she decides that she really does love him, he’ll come back fast enough.  Two hundred and fifty dollars.  Mr. W. (No. 3620) must go to the morgue for further information.  His repentance is too late; but he can see that there is a decent burial.  The charge:  one thousand dollars to the Florence Mission.  You may add that we possess his full record.”

The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish.  When she looked up:  “Who else is waiting?” he asked.

The girl read over the initials and numbers.

“Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the Carania to-morrow.  Fifty dollars.  There is nothing definite in the other cases.  Report progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by No. 3608.  You will find details in vol. xxxix under B.”

“Is that all, Mr. Keen?”

“Yes.  I’m going to be very busy with”—­turning slowly toward Harren—­“with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until to-morrow—­a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes and photography—­”

CHAPTER VIII

Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him.

“Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?” he asked.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Yes.  But how—­”

“Oh, I only guessed it,” said Keen with a smile.  “I made another guess that your case involved a cipher code.  Does it?”

“Y-es,” said the young man, astonished, “but I don’t see—­”

“It also involves the occult,” observed Keen calmly.  “We may need Miss Borrow to help us.”

Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning Harren to do likewise.

“Don’t be surprised, Captain Harren,” he said.  “I suppose you have no conception of our business, no realization of its scope—­its network of information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data and the infinitesimal details we have at our command.  You, of course, have no idea of the number of people