“And can you put your hand on it?”

“At any moment.”

“Not worth the trouble of looking after now,” said Mrs. Bray, assuming an indifferent manner.

“Why?” Pinky turned on her quickly.

“Oh, because the old lady is dead.”

“What old lady?”

“The grandmother.”

“When did she die?”

“Three or four weeks ago.”

“What was her name?” asked Pinky.

Mrs. Bray closed her lips tightly and shook her head.

“Can’t betray thatt secret,” she replied.

“Oh, just as you like;” and Pinky gave her head an impatient toss.  “High sense of honor!  Respect for the memory of a departed friend!  But it won’t go down with me, Fan.  We know each other too well.  As for the baby—­a pretty big one now, by the way, and as handsome a boy as you’ll find in all this city—­he’s worth something to somebody, and I’m on that somebody’s track.  There’s mother as well as a grandmother in the case, Fan.”

Mrs. Bray’s eyes flashed, and her face grew red with an excitement she could not hold back.  Pinky watched her keenly.

“There’s somebody in this town to-day who would give thousands to get him,” she added, still keeping her eyes on her companion.  “And as I was saying, I’m on that somebody’s track.  You thought no one but you and Sal Long knew anything, and that when she died you had the secret all to yourself.  But Sal didn’t keep mum about it.”

“Did she tell you anything?” demanded Mrs. Bray, thrown off her guard by Pinky’s last assertion.

“Enough for me to put this and that together and make it nearly all out,” answered Pinky, with great coolness.  “I was close after the game when I got caught myself.  But I’m on the track once more, and don’t mean to be thrown off.  A link or two in the chain of evidence touching the parentage of this child, and I am all right.  You have these missing links, and can furnish them if you will.  If not, I am bound to find them.  You know me, Fan.  If I once set my heart on doing a thing, heaven and earth can’t stop me.”

“You’re devil enough for anything, I know, and can lie as fast as you can talk,” returned Mrs. Bray, in considerable irritation.  “If I could believe a word you said!  But I can’t.”

“No necessity for it,” retorted Pinky, with a careless toss of her head.  “If you don’t wish to hunt in company, all right.  I’ll take the game myself.”

“You forget,” said Mrs. Bray, “I can spoil your game.”

“Indeed! how?”

“By blowing the whole thing to Mr.—­”

“Mr. who?” asked Pinky, leaning forward eagerly as her companion paused without uttering the name that was on her lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mrs. Bray gave a low tantalizing laugh.

“I’m not sure that I would, from you.  I’m bound to know somehow, and it will be cheapest to find out for myself,” replied Pinky, hiding her real desire, which was to get the clue she sought from Mrs. Bray, and which she alone could give.  “As for blowing on me, I wouldn’t like anything better.  I wish you’d call on Mr. Somebody at once, and tell him I’ve got the heir of his house and fortune, or on Mrs. Somebody, and tell her I’ve got her lost baby.  Do it, Fan; that’s a deary.”