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"You must have had some difficulty in keeping track of yourself," Harleston remarked, as he made a note of the names. Then he returned the bills and the cards to the book, and put it back in Crenshaw's pocket. "It's unwise to carry so much money about you," he remarked; "it induces spending, as well as provokes attack." "What's that to you?" replied Crenshaw angrily.
He unbuttoned the other's coat, put in his hand, and drew out the book. "Attend, please," said he, "so you can see that I replace every article." Crenshaw's only answer was a contemptuous shrug. A goodly wad of yellow backs of large denominations, and some visiting cards, no two of which bore the same name, were the contents of the pocketbook.
Just as Sparrow hobbled to Crenshaw's aid, Harleston landed a short arm blow on the latter's ear and sprang up, avoided the former's rush and made for the hall-way. At the same moment came a loud pounding on the corridor door. The noise had been effective. In a bound, Harleston reached the door; it should, as he knew, open from within by a turn of the knob.
He had not cared to speculate on the future; he had believed that friends or kindred must sooner or later claim Hannibal, but now he felt wonderfully secure in Crenshaw's opinion that this was not to be.
Mclntosh 's Battalion. Johnson's Battery. Hardaway Artillery. Danville " 2d Rockbridge Artillery. Pegram's Battalion. Peedee Artillery. Fredericksburg Artillery. Letcher " Purcell Battery. Crenshaw's Battery. Poague's Battalion. Madison Artillery. Albemarle " Brooke " Charlotte " Organization of the Army of the Valley District.
Harleston looked at it long enough to fix in his mind the penmanship and to mark the little eccentricities of style. Then he folded it and put it in Crenshaw's outside pocket. "Thank you!" said he, with an amused smile. "You forgot to look in the soles of my shoes?" Crenshaw jeered. "Someone else will do that," Harleston replied. "Someone else?" Crenshaw inflected.
"You're excused until morning," said the Chief curtly. The detective saluted and went out. "I am exceedingly sorry I overlooked Whiteside when I escaped from Crenshaw's garrote in the Chateau," Harleston remarked. "The simple fact is, I clean forgot him until I was talking with you on the telephone." "It's just as well, Mr. Harleston," Ranleigh replied. "It served him right.
"Damn!" said he. He was persuaded that the key-word was in the sentence before him; the code-book, Crenshaw's slip of paper, and his own hunch were convincing, yet the combination was slow in coming. Du jour
Crenshaw. They were standing near the bars that gave entrance to the lane. Murrell had left them and was walking briskly down the road toward Crenshaw's store where his horse was tied. She bent down and gave Yancy her slim white hand. "Good-by, Mr. Yancy lift Hannibal so that I can kiss him!" Yancy swung the child aloft. "I think you are such a nice little boy, Hannibal you mustn't forget me!"
Harleston glanced at Crenshaw as he opened the note and caught a sly look in his eyes. "Something doing, Crenshaw?" he queried. Another shrug was Crenshaw's answer and the sly look grew into a sly smile. The note, apparently in a woman's handwriting, was in French, and contained five words and an initial: À l'aube du jour.
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