"And, unfortunately, I have none of Mrs. Armstrong."
"But I had one taken of Mrs. Halsey, which I have kept in the hope that it might be identified some day;" and the Doctor drew from his pocket-book a thumbed and discolored photograph, which he placed in Mr. Armstrong's hand.
The effect was unmistakable. The strong man rose to his feet, staggered, and fainted, for he had recognized his wife. The physician quickly restored him to consciousness, and after waiting until the effect of the shock had partially passed away, he said:
"I see that there is no danger of any mistake, and that I may direct you where to find Mrs. Halsey--I beg pardon, Mrs. Armstrong. Her address, when I last saw her, was No. 1 Rickett's Court."
"Rickett's Court!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, in horror.
"Yes, sir; it is not the best quarter of the city, but many of the respectable poor live there; and you must remember, sir, that your wife must necessarily have had a hard struggle to support herself and your little son, alone and friendless, in this great city."
Mr. Armstrong groaned aloud. Rickett's Court had not seemed so bad to him for other men's children and wives, but that _his_ child, _his_ wife, should live in such vile surroundings was horrible. He sprang to his feet, seized his hat, and with a hasty "I will see you again, Doctor," hurried in the same direction which Stephen Trimble had taken not a half-hour before. It was only a short distance, but it seemed miles to him. Just as he came in sight of the building every window in its front was illuminated with a sudden flash, and a heavy detonation shook the earth. Then smoke poured from the broken panes, and the air was filled with flying splinters and débris, while shrieks from within, and shouts of "Fire! fire!" from without, added to the confusion.
[Illustration: { Drawing of city street and buildings.}]
The smoke cleared in a moment, and people were seen at the windows dropping down the fire-escape. Only a few minutes later a fire-engine came tearing around the corner, and the hoarse voice of a fireman was heard dominating the tumult and giving orders, but before this Alexander Armstrong, possessed of but one idea--that his wife and child were somewhere within--had rushed into the burning building. One glance showed him that this was hopeless. The staircase had been torn out by the explosion, and the flames were roaring up the space which it had occupied, as through a chimney. He was dragged back to the court by the fireman, who exclaimed, "Man alive! can't you see that the staircase has gone, and that they are coming down the fire-escape? There wouldn't have been the ghost of a chance for them but for that. Bless the man who had it put there!"