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 seized them and was scanning them one by one. Finally he separated an Era from the rest of the sheets, turned it toward Valeska, and smiled. She saw that one page had been torn out.

"The advertising page," he remarked. He drew out the Black Hand letter and compared the torn scraps silently with the journal in his hand, nodded his head in confirmation, then silently opened the door.

"Who lives here?" he asked the woman of the house.

"Antonio Soroni."

Astro turned to the detective. "Arrest him to-night and bring him to my apartments at eight o'clock."

"Did he really do it?" asked McGraw eagerly. Astro turned away without answering.

"Kindly don't put any questions to him," interrupted Valeska; "for he is now getting in touch with the psychic influences of the place."

"Now for the next room, please," announced the Master of Mysteries, as if suddenly wakening.

"Oh, that's vacant," said the landlady with arms akimbo. "A young girl had it until last Friday; but she's left."

Valeska turned at once. "When was the last explosion, did you say, Mr. McGraw?"

"Thursday."

"And when did you search these rooms?"

"Friday, miss. The girl was here when I came. Fine looker, too, she was. A sort of laundress or seamstress or clerk or something; out of work, she said."

"Well, better look her up too, McGraw," said Astro, "and bring her around with' Antonio."

He walked into the empty room, and Valeska followed him. The plain-clothes man and the proprietress