“I am sure you won’t find him, ma’am,” I urged.  “Perhaps he is home, now.”

“Oh, no! no!” And she shook her head mournfully.  “He never comes home until long after midnight.  I wish I could see inside of the bar-room.  I’m sure he must be there.”

“If you will tell me his name, I will go in and search for him.”

After a moment of hesitation she answered: 

“His name is Willy Hammond.”

How the name, uttered so sadly, and yet with such moving tenderness by the mother’s lips, caused me to start—­almost to tremble.

“If he is in the house, ma’am,” said I, firmly, “I will see him for you.”  And I left her and went into the bar.

“In what room do you think I will find young Hammond?” I asked of the bar-keeper.  He looked at me curiously, but did not answer.  The question had come upon him unanticipated.

“In Harvey Green’s room?” I pursued.

“I don’t know, I am sure.  He isn’t in the house to my knowledge.  I saw him go out about half an hour since.”

“Green’s room is No.——?”

“Eleven,” he answered.

“In the front part of the house?”

“Yes.”

I asked no further question, but went to No. 11, and tapped on the door.  But no one answered the summons.  I listened, but could not distinguish the slightest sound within.  Again I knocked; but louder.  If my ears did not deceive me, the chink of coin was heard.  Still there was neither voice nor movement.

I was disappointed.  That the room had inmates, I felt sure.  Remembering, now, what I had heard about light being seen in this room through a rent in the curtain, I went down-stairs, and out into the street.  A short distance beyond the house, I saw, dimly, the woman’s form.  She had only just passed in her movement to and fro.  Glancing up at the window, which I now knew to be the one in Green’s room, light through the torn curtain was plainly visible.  Back into the house I went, and up to No. 11.  This time I knocked imperatively; and this time made myself heard.

“What’s wanted?” came from within.  I knew the voice to be that of Harvey Green.

I only knocked louder.  A hurried movement and the low murmur of voices was heard for some moments; then the door was unlocked and held partly open by Green, whose body so filled the narrow aperture that I could not look into the room.  Seeing me, a dark scowl fell upon his countenance.

“What d’ye want?” he inquired, sharply.

“Is Mr. Hammond here?  If so, he is wanted downstairs.”

“No, he’s not,” was the quick answer.  “What sent you here for him, hey?”

“The fact that I expected to find him in your room,” was my firm answer.

Green was about shutting the door in my face, when some one placed a hand on his shoulder, and said something to him that I could not hear.

“Who wants to see him?” he inquired of me.