The barkeeper looked at me with cold suspicion.

"No, sir," he said shortly. "This is the quietest neighborhood in
town."

"I should think there would be a disturbance every time that liquor was
sold," was my private comment, as I got the aftertaste of the dose. But
I merely wished him good night as I paid for the drink, and sauntered
out.

I promptly got into my doorway before any one could reach the street to
see whither I went, and listened to a growling comment and a mirthless
laugh that followed my departure. Hardly had I gained my concealment
when the swinging doors of the saloon opened cautiously, and a face
peered out into the semi-darkness. With a muttered curse it went back,
and I heard the barkeeper's voice in some jest about a failure to be
"quick enough to catch flies."

Once more in the room to wait till morning should give me a chance to
work, I looked about the dingy place with a heart sunk to the lowest
depths. I was alone in the face of this mystery. I had not one friend
in the city to whom I could appeal for sympathy, advice or money. Yet I
should need all of these to follow this business to the end--to learn
the fate of my cousin, to rescue him, if alive and to avenge him, if
dead.

Then, in the hope that I might find something among Henry's effects to
give me a clue to the men who had attacked him, I went carefully
through his clothes and his papers. But I found that he did not leave