"Oh, I can't do that, indeed I can't," she faltered.

"Why not?"

"I took a man to him once--a charity officer--and daddy--whip--whipped me for it."

"Then show me where he lives," went on Jerry after a pause. "You needn't let him see you. I must have a talk with him. Perhaps I'll give him some money."

The little girl still hesitated, but finally led the way up the street into a horrible-looking alley and pointed to a dingy tenement-house.

"Daddy is up there on the top floor in the back."

"And is that where you live?" asked Jerry, with a shudder he could not repress.

"Yes, of course."

"It's not a nice place."

"Oh, no," and something like a tear glistened in the girl's eye.

"Here is ten cents for you," added Jerry. "You had better keep it for yourself. Are you hungry?"

"A little. I only had some bread to-day for dinner and supper."

"Then go down to the restaurant on the corner and get something to eat for the money. You need it."

The little girl ran off to do as bidden, and our hero entered the dilapidated tenement. Four dirty men and women sat on the stoop smoking and drinking from a tin pail.

"Who are ye lookin' fer?" asked one of the men, roughly.

"Crazy Jim," answered Jerry, briefly, and brushed past him.

The hallway was dark, and it was with difficulty that the young oarsman found the rickety stairs, every step of which creaked as he trod upon it.

Arriving at the top floor, the youth noticed a shaft of light streaming from beneath a door in the rear. He knocked loudly.

There was a movement within, the door was flung back, and Jerry found himself confronted by a tall, round-shouldered individual, with long, unkempt hair and a wild look in his small black eyes.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

THE LITTLE n.o.bODY.

"Well!" demanded the man laconically.

"Is this James MacHenry?"

"That's me, boy."

"I would like to see you on business," Jerry went on, as he brushed past and entered one of the barest living apartments he had ever seen.

"On business?"

"Yes, a few days ago you picked up a packet downtown belonging to me--a packet containing some doc.u.ments and letters."

"Who said they belonged to you?"

"I say so. My name is Jerry Upton, and I dropped the packet in the alleyway where you found it."

The man stared at our hero.

"Say, is this a game?" he demanded, harshly.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you trying to get me into trouble?"

"No, I am trying to keep you out of trouble," replied the young oarsman, warmly.

"You say that packet belonged to you?"

"Yes."

"It didn't have your name on it."

"No, it--" Our hero stopped short. "It had Alexander Sloc.u.m's name on it!"

he burst out.

"Exactly."

"You don't mean to say you delivered that packet to him?" gasped the youth.

"I did--not an hour ago."

Jerry fell back into a chair and breathed heavily. The packet was gone--into the hands of the enemy!

"The man said it was his package," said Crazy Jim. "He gave me a reward of five dollars for returning it to him."

"It was mine. He wanted to steal it--and now he's done it," cried Jerry.

"You let him have it but an hour ago?"

"Yes."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know."