belonged to his son, any drawings or canvases executed by his son and the books left by Rebecca's stepfather, which he presumed would belong to the child if no other heir claimed them.
After three months his letters to Mrs. O'Shea had been returned to him, stamped "Not found." He was deeply thankful to Providence that he had been on hand to receive the mail the morning the letters were returned to him. While he scorned his daughters' intelligence and judgment, he dreaded their knowing that his inquiries concerning Rebecca had proved futile.
There was nothing to do now but put the matter in the hands of a detective agency. He would have gone to New York himself but for the fact that his hub factory was giving him a great deal of trouble. His manager had left and the labor question was annoying. He wished Spot might be relied upon to go to New York and attend to the matter for him, but he dreaded talking to his son about Rebecca. If the detective agency had nothing favorable to report, the old man had determined to keep it secret.
He awaited with deep anxiety the report from the New York agency. He lived in constant dread that Rebecca might learn that he had consulted detectives concerning the inhabitants of the studio on West Tenth Street. It seemed
