cock-tail, makes some men firm friends. When that period of time had elapsed, No. 46, more affable than ever, and the tall stranger, looking quite at his ease, stood again near the entrance to the office of the City Detective Agency.

Two men were coming down the street, walking and talking with the air of men on good terms with themselves and each other.

Both were young, well dressed, well-looking; but a more marked contrast never was seen.

One, the taller of the two, was dark and decidedly handsome, with black waving hair, dusky eyes, that were by turns solemn, tender, severe, and pathetic; “faultily faultless” features, that wore an habitual look of gravity and meditation; an erect, graceful carriage, and a demeanor dignified and somewhat reserved. Slow of speech and punctillious in the use of words, he was a man of tact and discretion; a man fitted to lead, and capable of ruling in stormy times. At first sight, people pronounced him “a handsome fellow;” after long acquaintance, they named him “a perfect gentleman.”

His companion was not quite so tall, of medium height, in fact, but muscular and well built. He walked with a springy, careless stride, carrying his head erect, and keeping his observant, twinkling, laughing brown eyes constantly employed noting everything around and about him, but noting all with an expression of careless unconcern that seemed to say, “all this is nothing to me, why should it be?” His hair, brown, soft, and silky, was cropped close to his head, displaying thus a well developed crown, and brow broad, high and full. The nose was too prominent for beauty, but the mouth and chin were magnificent features, of which a physiognomist would say: Here are courage and tenderness, firmness and loyalty. He was easy of manner—“off-hand,” would better express it; careless, and sometimes brusque in speech. At first sight one would call him decidedly plain; after a time spent in his society you voted him “a good looking fellow,” and “a queer fish.” And those who had thoroughly tested the quality of his friendship, vowed him a man to trust and to “tie to.”

“Here they come,” whispered No. 46; “those two fellows in grey.”

“Which is which?”

“To be sure. The taller is Van Vernet; the other Dick Stanhope.”

“Here they come,” whispered No. 46; “those two fellows in grey.”—page 26.

As they approached, Van Vernet touched his hat with a glance of courteous recognition. But Richard Stanhope merely nodded, with a careless, “how are you, Charlie?” And neither noted the eager, scrutinizing glance bent upon them, as they passed the grey-bearded stranger and ran lightly up the stairs. “You’re wanted in the Chief’s office, Mr. Vernet,” said the office boy as they entered; “And you too, I think, Mr. Stanhope.”

“Not both at once, stupid?”

“Um, ah; of course not. Now look here, Mr. Dick—”

And Stanhope and the office boy promptly fell into pugilistic attitudes, the former saying, with a gay laugh:

“You first, Van, if the old man won’t let us ‘hunt in couples.’”

With the shadow of a smile upon his face, Van Vernet turned his back upon the two belligerents and entered the inner office.

“Ah, Vernet, good morning,” said his affable chieftain. “Are you ready for a bit of business?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“I don’t think it will be anything very deep, but the young fellow insisted upon having