"Oh, that's nothing, Bristol. Never happened but once, and won't occur again. Otherwise I have treated you pretty well, haven't I?"
Bristol felt compelled to confess that she had.
"Well, then," she continued wheedlingly, "will you do me a favor?"
"What is it?"
"I want you to take a walk with me."
"Pretty late, Winslow, pretty late; nearly ten o'clock," replied the detective, looking at his watch.
"The later the better," she replied earnestly. "I want to use those herrings."
"Use those herrings! Why, there are at least two dozen. How on earth will you use them all?"
"Some of these humbug mediums," replied Mrs. Winslow in a style of expression that showed her to be very familiar with the Spiritualists, "or old Lyon himself, have sent me these things. I'm going to adorn the door knob of every one of their places with a string of herrings. In that way I'll hit the right one sure. Come, won't you go?"
Bristol saw that the woman would go anyhow, and fearing that she might get into some trouble that would cause her arrest and thus expose him and Bristol to public notice, which a capable detective will always avoid, consented to accompany the woman, which so pleased her that she immediately sent out for brandy, and not only imbibed an inordinate amount of it herself, but also pressed it upon Bristol unsparingly.