A little while they held each other's hands, and looked into each other's faces with keenly-searching, sinister eyes, one thought coming uppermost in the minds of both--the thought of that long-time-lost capital in trade, the cast-adrift baby.
From the street they went to Mrs.Bray's hiding-place a small ill-furnished room in one of the suburbs of the city--and there took counsel together.
"What became of that baby ?" was one of Mrs.Bray's first questions.
"It's all right," answered Pinky.
"Do you know where it is ?" "Yes." "And can you put your hand on it ?" "At any moment." "Not worth the trouble of looking after now," said Mrs.Bray, assuming an indifferent manner.
"Why ?" Pinky turned on her quickly.
"Oh, because the old lady is dead." "What old lady ?" "The grandmother." "When did she die ?" "Three or four weeks ago." "What was her name ?" asked Pinky.
Mrs.Bray closed her lips tightly and shook her head.
"Can't betray thatt secret," she replied.
"Oh, just as you like;" and Pinky gave her head an impatient toss.

"High sense of honor! Respect for the memory of a departed friend! But it won't go down with me, Fan.

We know each other too well.

As for the baby--a pretty big one now, by the way, and as handsome a boy as you'll find in all this city--he's worth something to somebody, and I'm on that somebody's track.

There's mother as well as a grandmother in the case, Fan." Mrs.Bray's eyes flashed, and her face grew red with an excitement she could not hold back.