CHAPTER XI.
THE INCENTIVE TO TREACHERY.Ten minutes after leaving police headquarters Sandy Hyde might have been seen slinking across the Tremont Street mall of Boston Common.
Yet only a close observer would have recognized the treacherous little rascal.
He had his coat-collar turned well up about his ears, his soft felt hat drawn forward over his brow, and with his handkerchief held to his face his crafty countenance was for the most part concealed.
Presently he glided across the street, then hurriedly bolted into the corridor of one of the buildings—that in which the rooms of the fortune-teller and long-time adventuress were located.
Quickly mounting the stairs, Hyde unceremoniously entered her rooms.
He found Vic Clayton, by which name he best knew her, seated alone in the receptio
