a detective in you, this case will bring it out."

Chip blushed. Such words of praise from his superior were worth working
for. The youngest man on the force, he had his spurs to win, and the
approbation of his chief was reward enough.

The bundle was untied, and disclosed a shirt, a pair of drawers, socks
and a dirty handkerchief. As the clothing fell on the floor, the odor of
some sort of liniment filled the room, and on the leg of the drawers,
below the knee, a stain was seen. Examining it more closely, a little
clotted blood was seen. The stain extended half way around the leg, and
showed that the cut or bruise was quite an extensive one.

"No wonder he limped," said Mr. Pinkerton, as he dropped the drawers and
picked up the handkerchief.

The handkerchief, a common linen one, had evidently been used as a
bandage, for it was stained with the liniment, and covered with blood
clots. In one corner had been written a name, but the only letters now
readable were "W--r--k."

This was placed on the table and the shirt carefully examined.

Nothing, not even the maker's name, could be seen. It was a cheap shirt,
such as could be bought at any store which labels everything belonging
to a man as "Gents' Furnishing." The socks were common, and like
thousands of similar socks.

"Not much of a find, Chip--the letters on the handkerchief can be found
in a hundred different names--a sore knee is covered by a pair of