any crime is possible.  I give myself seven days at the outside to light upon the traces of Shackford’s murder.  I feel him in the air.”  The writer’s theory was that the man would betray his identity in one of two ways:  either by talking unguardedly, or by indulging in expenditures not warranted by his means and position.  If several persons had been concerned in the crime, nothing was more likely than a disagreement over the spoil, and consequent treachery on the part of one of them.  Or, again, some of the confederates might become alarmed, and attempt to save themselves by giving away their comrades.  Mr. Taggett, however, leaned to the belief that the assassin had had no accomplices.

The sum taken from Mr. Shackford’s safe was a comparatively large one,—­five hundred dollars in gold and nearly double that amount in bank-notes.  Neither the gold nor the paper bore any known mark by which it could be recognized; the burglar had doubtless assured himself of this, and would not hesitate to disburse the money.  That was even a safer course, judiciously worked, than to secrete it.  The point was, Would he have sufficient self-control to get rid of it by degrees?  The chances, Mr. Taggett argued, were ten to one he would not.

A few pages further on Mr. Taggett compliments the Unknown on the adroit manner in which he is conducting himself.  He has neither let slip a suspicious word, nor made an incautious display of his booty.  Snelling’s bar was doing an unusually light business.  No one appeared to have any money.  Many of the men had run deeply into debt during the late strike, and were now drinking moderately.  In the paragraph which closes the week’s record Mr. Taggett’s chagrin is evident.  He confesses that he is at fault.  “My invisible friend does not materialize so successfully as I expected,” is Mr. Taggett’s comment.

His faith in the correctness of his theory had not abated; but he continued his observation sin a less sanguine spirit.  These observations were not limited to the bar-room or the workshop; he informed himself of the domestic surroundings of his comrades.  Where his own scrutiny could not penetrate, he employed the aid of correspondents.  He knew what workmen had money in the local savings-bank, and the amount of each deposit.  In the course of his explorations of the shady side of Stillwater life, Mr. Taggett unearthed many amusing and many pathetic histories, but nothing that served his end.  Finally, he began to be discouraged.

Returning home from the tavern, one night, in a rather desponding mood, he found the man Wollaston smoking his pipe in bed.  Wollaston was a taciturn man generally, but this night he was conversational, and Mr. Taggett, too restless to sleep, fell to chatting with him.  Did he know much about the late Mr. Shackford?  Yes, he had known him well enough, in an off way,—­not to speak of him; everybody knew him in Stillwater; he was a sort of miser, hated everybody, and bullied everybody.  It was a wonder somebody didn’t knock the old silvertop on the head years ago.