“Do you represent a paint house, too?” questioned Adam Adams, after a pause, during which he appeared to enjoy the really fragrant Havana Tom Ostrello had tended him.

“No, I’m with a drug house and have been for four years, one of the best in the country, Alexander & Company, of Rochester, New York.  I am their salesman for New York and the Eastern States.  We make some of the most noted preparations in the trade.”

“Alexander & Company, of Rochester,” mused Adam Adams, thinking of the bit of paper he had picked up from under the safe.  “I believe I have seen their place.  Let me see, what street is it on?”

“Wadley street and runs through to Hill—­a fine six-story concern, with a laboratory that is second to none.”

“Yes, I remember it now.  I suppose you must have a pretty good position with them.”

“Fair.  I think they ought to raise my salary,” answered Tom Ostrello.  He stretched himself.  “I feel sleepy—­didn’t get a wink last night.  When this affair is over I am going to ask for a week’s vacation.”

“I don’t blame you,” answered Adam Adams, with a quiet smile.

He settled back to smoke and his companion did the same, and thus the remainder of the trip to the city passed.  As he smoked the detective revolved the new revelation in his mind.  Tom Ostrello represented the very drug firm whose advertisement had appeared, in part, on the bit of paper picked up from under the library safe.

“And he was there hunting for something,” thought the detective.  “Was it for that bit of paper or for the something that he secured in his mother’s room?”

At the depot the pair separated.  Adam Adams lost no time in visiting his office, where his assistant awaited him anxiously.  “Well, Letty, how are you this morning?” he said pleasantly, as he dropped into his chair.

He gave the girl a bright smile and she smiled in return.  Letty Bernard was an orphan, the daughter of one of his former friends, and he took a fatherly interest in her.  She lived with a second cousin, but wished to be independent and so the detective had given her the position, in his office, a place she filled with credit.  She was short and plump and had a wealth of curly hair that strayed over her forehead.

“The Chief asked me to give you these papers,” said the assistant.  “You are to sign all three.”

“Um!  Then that’s the end of the Soper case.  Anything else?”

“Glackey was in.  He told me he had tracked the German and would report in full by to-morrow.  He thinks you were right and the German is the man.”

“What else?”

“A Mrs. Caven-Demuth was here.  Wished to know if you ever found lost dogs.”

“Great Scott!  Dogs!”

“She said her pet cocker-spaniel had disappeared and she was willing to spend five hundred dollars on finding him.”

“I am no dog detective.  Send her to McMommie.”  McMommie was, as it is easy to guess, a rival.