"I glanced at the card, and it did read, 'Mabel Verne, 21 Flood avenue.'
"Well, Flood avenue is no slouch of a street, the best folks live there," I answered.
"'Yes, that's her private residence, and if you go there and are let in, you'd be the first man ever seen around there. She's a curious critter, never rides or drives, or shows herself off at all; but you bet she sees that the rest of the stock show off. She's in it for money, I tell you.'
"I don't know why, but it made me kind of heart-sick to think of the hell that woman must be in, for I knew by her looks that she had a heart and a brain, and that neither of them was in the Odeon or the Tontine dance-houses.
"I thought the matter over,—and didn't go to see her. The next trip, she sent a carriage for me.
"She met me at the door, and took my hat, and as I dropped into an easy chair, I opened the ball to the effect that 'this here was a strange proceeding for a lady.'
"'Yes,' said she, sitting down square in front of me; 'it is; I felt as if I had found a true man, when I first saw you, and I have asked you here to tell you a story, my story, and ask your help and advice. I am so earnest, so anxious to do thoroughly what I have undertaken, that I fear to overdo it; I need counsel, restraint; I can trust you. Won't you help me?"
"'If I can; what is it that you want me to do, madam?'
"'First of all, keep a secret, and next, protect or help protect, an innocent child.'
"'Suppose I help the child, and you don't tell me the secret?'