secret, so one night I takes him up to Farrell's and gets him
stewed and he tells me. Then when I wants to use it, bingo! there
I am with the goods."

"And the girl--Betty Blackwell--what did she have to do with it?"
pursued Craig. "Did you get into the office, learn Langhorne's
habits, and so on, from her?"

Dopey Jack looked at us in disgust. "Say," he replied, "if I
wanted a skirt to help me in such a job, believe me I know plenty
that could put it all over that girl. Naw, I did it all myself. I
picked the lock, burnt the safe with that powder the guy give me,
and took out something in soft leather, a lot of typewriting."

We were all on our feet in unrestrained excitement. It was the
Black Book at last!

"Yes," prompted Carton, "and what then--what did you do with it?"

"Gave it to Mr. Murtha, of course," came back the matter-of-fact
answer of the young tough.

"What did he do with it?" demanded Carton.

Dopey Jack shook his head dubiously. "It ain't no use trying to
kid you, Mr. Carton. If I told you a fake you'd find it out. I'd
tell you what he did, if I knew, but I don't--on the level. He
just took it. Maybe he burnt it--I don't know. I did my work."

Unprincipled as the young man was, I could not help the feeling