"Two thousand dollars."

"It's yours," said Grogan.

"Why it's worth double that!" exclaimed John Boland.

"Never mind that. It's yours," repeated Grogan. "I'll give two thousand for my peace of mind any day."

"Are you crazy?"

"Not yet--but I'm headed that way. Take it at two thousand and I'll love you, John."

"All right."

"But, Governor," protested Harry, "don't you know--"

"Now don't let a fool reform wave scare you," burst out the father irritably. "Did you ever see a vice investigation get anywhere? Never!

Just a lot of talk and--letters."

Miss Masters appeared with a package of letters in her hands. "Mail, Mr.

Boland," she said. She began sorting the letters. "Four for you, Mr.

Boland," she went on, "and a special for Mr. Harry Boland."

Grogan had been watching her intently. He breathed deeply and muttered: "Sure and I'm an old fool. Why should I be afraid of letters? Who could write--"

Miss Masters interrupted. "And one for you, Mr. Grogan," she said casually.

Grogan dropped into his chair crying: "Help!" Then cautiously he took the letter from Miss Masters. The envelope was white and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"What the deuce ails you this morning, Grogan?" demanded John Boland irritated.

"I'm getting second sight," returned Grogan gloomily, "and I don't like it."

"Oh, don't be a fool." John Boland began opening his mail. "All this investigating," he continued, "this talk of a minimum wage law, is just talk and that's all. Now take this crazy woman--Mary Randall--"

While he spoke he had opened a letter containing a second enclosure. It was an envelope of a peculiar shape and its color was dark blue.

CHAPTER XIII

THE READER MEETS ANOTHER OLD ACQUAINTANCE

The sight of the blue envelope had transfixed Grogan. He stood staring at it like a man in the presence of a ghost.

"The blue envelope, again," he cried. "A harpoon for you, John."

John Boland made no reply. He reached for his paper knife, ripped open the envelope and drew forth a sheet of blue note paper. He read with a gathering frown what had been written on it. Then he reread it, muttering under his breath.

"Does it hurt you much, John?" inquired Grogan, enjoying the other's discomfiture.

For answer the elder Boland scrutinized Grogan over his gla.s.ses.

"What do you know about this, Mike?" he demanded.

"Only that I got one of those blue bombs myself this morning," retorted Grogan.

"Listen to this." John Boland flourished the envelope angrily. "'The owner of property who leases same to vice is morally responsible for the crimes committed on his premises. Mary Randall.'"

He turned to Grogan. "What do you think of that?" he asked.

"She's. .h.i.t home," replied Grogan grimly.

"d.a.m.n her, for a brazen busybody," blurted Boland angrily. "Why doesn't she mind her own business?"

Meanwhile Harry was opening an envelope the exact counterpart of his father's. He read the note twice and stood considering its import.

"Another of 'em?" said the elder Boland. "Well, what's yours, Harry?"

"Mine?--Oh,--mine--why," the young man faltered.

"Well, well, can't you speak?" demanded the father irritably.

Harry returned no direct reply. Opening his note he read:

"'We count on young men like you, Harry Boland, to lead the fight we are making to save our Little Lost Sisters. Mary Randall.'"

"Now," chuckled Grogan, "you know how I felt when I got my little blue envelope this morning." As he spoke he tore off the end of the envelope which he had held unnoticed. Inserting his finger and thumb into the envelope he went on:

"Do you know, I never did like the color of blue--"

He broke off as he lowered his eyes to the enclosure he had brought out.

It was another blue letter. Grogan started up and jerked out the note.

Holding it at arms' distance he read:

"'The strength of Ireland is in the purity of her sons and daughters.

Mary Randall.'"

The three men stood staring at each other in amazement.

"Mary Randall." John Boland broke the silence with a sneer.

"Mary Randall," repeated Harry quietly.

"Oh you Mary Randall!" put in Grogan with just a touch of admiration in his voice. "She's the lady champion lightweight. Three knock-outs in three minutes. 'Tis a world's record!" He turned to the elder Boland.

"Does the punch she gave you hurt much?" he inquired.

Boland glared at Grogan. "Who the devil is Mary Randall?" he demanded.