lighting up his face. "Your man told me who you was, and I heard you
tell the taxi man where to drive you. I didn't think anything more
about it until I read about the murder."

"The murder!" exclaimed the colonel. Somehow that seemed to follow him
as a Nemesis.

"Yes--old Mrs. Darcy--the jewelry store lady," went on the boy. "This
young lady," and he nodded toward his companion, "when I told her--"

"Perhaps you had better let me explain, Tom," broke in the girl. "You
see it's this way," she went on, addressing the colonel. "This boy is
Tom Tracy. He sells papers on the express. He was once a jockey for
my father, but he got hurt--stiff arm--and we had to get him something
else to do. Dad always looks out for his boys, and so Tom went on the
road."

"I had to do _something_ that had motion in it," Tom explained in an
aside.

"Yes, it was as near to horseback riding as he could come," said the
girl, and she smiled, though the grief did not leave her blue eyes.
"Well, as he has told you, he heard who you were, Colonel, from your
man. Then when he read about the murder, and found how--how close home
it came to _me_, he hurried out to our place and said I should engage
you to help--"

"He's the biggest detective in New York!" broke in Tom. "And that's
what we need--a big New York detective!"