possible."

"Perhaps Mr. Black could tell you where he is. I believe Edwards' wife
is staying with him, and she certainly could tell you where you could
address him, or whether he is expected here very soon."

After thanking the clerk for his information and ascertaining the
business place of Mr. Black, the detective left the hotel, and sauntered
about the city.

Walking leisurely down the main street, he soon came in sight of the
place to which he had been directed. It was a small frame building,
somewhat old and dilapidated, and was sadly in need of the painter's
brush and a new covering of paint. Over the doorway swung a dingy,
time-worn and weather-beaten sign, upon which he could barely decipher
the words: "HENRY BLACK, Locksmith," and over which were
suspended a pair of massive crossed keys which at one time had been
bright golden, but which now were old and rusty looking. In the low
window in front there was a rare and curious collection of articles that
would have delighted the eyes of an antiquarian. Locks there were, that
were relics of a by-gone age, and seemed as if they might have done
service on dungeon doors in some ancient keep in feudal times--strange
and grotesque locks that had evidently pleased the fancy of some old
connoisseur, whose treasures were guarded by these strange looking
protectors, which had now outgrown their usefulness, and were exhibited
as curiosities in the practical age of to-day. Locks of latest finish
and design, and locks red and rusty and worn out, were mingled together
with a confusion and carelessness that bespoke a thriving business,
which left no time for order or arrangement.