Neither Richard nor Mr. Taggett was disposed to converse as they wended their way to Mitchell’s Alley.  Richard’s ire was slowly kindling at the shameful light in which he had been placed by Mr. Taggett, and Mr. Taggett was striving with only partial success to reconcile himself to the idea of young Shackford’s innocence.  Young Shackford’s innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Taggett, for he had irretrievably committed himself at head-quarters.  With Richard’s latent ire was mingled a feeling of profound gratitude.

“The Lord was on my side,” he said presently.

“He was on your side, as you remark; and when the Lord is on a man’s side a detective necessarily comes out second best.”

“Really, Mr. Taggett,” said Richard, smiling, “that is a handsome admission on your part.”

“I mean, sir,” replied the latter, slightly nettled, “that it sometimes seems as if the Lord himself took charge of a case.”

“Certainly you are entitled to the credit of going to the bottom of this one.”

“I have skillfully and laboriously damaged my reputation, Mr. Shackford.”

Mr. Taggett said this with so heavy an air that Richard felt a stir of sympathy in his bosom.

“I am very sorry,” he said good-naturedly.

“No, I beg of you!” exclaimed Mr. Taggett.  “Any expression of friendliness from you would finish me!  For nearly ten days I have looked upon you as a most cruel and consummate villain.”

“I know,” said Richard.  “I must be quite a disappointment to you, in a small way.”

Mr. Taggett laughed in spite of himself.  “I hope I don’t take a morbid view of it,” he said.  A few steps further on he relaxed his gait.  “We have taken the Hennessey girl into custody.  Do you imagine she was concerned?”

“Have you questioned her?”

“Yes; she denies everything, except that she told Durgin you had quarreled with the old gentleman.”

“I think Mary Hennessey an honest girl.  She’s little more than a child.  I doubt if she knew anything whatever.  Durgin was much too shrewd to trust her, I fancy.”

As the speakers struck into the principal street, through the lower and busier end of which they were obliged to pass, Mr. Taggett caused a sensation.  The drivers of carts and the pedestrians on both sidewalks stopped and looked at him.  The part he had played in Slocum’s Yard was now an open secret, and had produced an excitement that was not confined to the clientele of Snelling’s bar-room.  It was known that William Durgin had disappeared, and tdhat the constables were searching for him.  The air was thick with flying projectures, but none of them precisely hit the mark.  One rumor there was which seemed almost like a piece of poetical justice,—­a whisper to the effect that Rowland Slocum was suspected of being in some way mixed up with the murder.  The fact that Lawyer Perkins, with his green bag streaming in the wind, so to speak, had been seen darting into Mr. Slocum’s private residence at two o’clock that afternoon was sufficient to give birth to the horrible legend.