suffered in its loss in the last half-hour."

Mulrady grasped his outstretched hand. "P'raps," he said, gravely,
"there mayn't be any use for another word, if you can answer one
now. Come with me. No matter," he added, as Slinn moved with
difficulty; "I will help you."

He half supported, half lifted the paralyzed man up the three
flights of stairs, and opened the door of the loft. The pick was
leaning against the wall, where he had left it. "Look around, and
see if you recognize anything."

The old man's eyes fell upon the implement in a half-frightened
way, and then lifted themselves interrogatively to Mulrady's face.

"Do you know that pick?"

Slinn raised it in his trembling hands. "I think I do; and yet--"

"Slinn! is it yours?"

"No," he said hurriedly.

"Then what makes you think you know it?"

"It has a short handle like one I've seen."

"And is isn't yours?"

"No. The handle of mine was broken and spliced. I was too poor to