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                                WORKS OF
                          ANNA KATHARINE GREEN


     I——THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. A Lawyer’s Story.
        4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth,  $1 00

    II——A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
        4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth,  $1 00

   III——HAND AND RING.
        4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth,  $1 00

    IV——THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. A Story of New York Life.
        16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth                               $1 00

     V——X. Y. Z. A Detective Story.
        16mo, paper                                                   25

    VI——THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, and other Poems.
        16mo, cloth                                                $1 00

   VII——THE MILL MYSTERY.
        16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth                               $1 00

  VIII——RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama.
        16mo, cloth                                                $1 00

    IX——7 to 12. A Story.
        16mo, paper                                                   25


                     G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, PUBLISHERS,
                            NEW YORK AND LONDON.




                                 7 to 12
                            A DETECTIVE STORY

                                   BY
                          ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
        AUTHOR OF “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE MILL MYSTERY,” ETC.


                           NEW YORK AND LONDON
                           G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
                         The Knickerbocker Press
                                  1887




                              COPYRIGHT BY
                           G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
                                  1887




                                Press of
                          G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
                                New York




                                CONTENTS


        7 TO 12, A DETECTIVE STORY                                1

        ONE HOUR MORE                                            79




7 TO 12.

A DETECTIVE STORY.


“Clarke?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Another entrance through a second-story window. A detective wanted
right off. Better hurry up there, —— East Seventy-third Street.”

“All right, sir.”

Clarke turned to go; but the next moment I heard the Superintendent
call him back.

“It is Mr. Winchester’s, you know; the banker.”

Clarke nodded and started again; but a suppressed exclamation from the
Superintendent made him stop for the second time.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, folding up the slip of paper
he held in his hand. “You can see what Halley has for you to do; I’ll
attend to this.” And giving me a look that was a summons, he whispered
in my ear: “This notification was written by Mr. Winchester himself,
and at the bottom I see hurriedly added, ‘Keep it quiet; send your
discreetest man.’ That means something more than a common burglary.”

I nodded, and the affair was put in my hands. As I was going out of the
door, a fellow detective came hurriedly in.

“Nabbed them,” cried he.

“Who?” asked more than one voice.

“The fellows who have been climbing into second-story windows, and
helping themselves while the family is at dinner.”

I stopped.

“Where did you catch them?” I asked.

“In Twenty-second Street.”

“To-night?”

“Not two hours ago.”

I looked at the Superintendent. He gave a curious lift of his brows,
which I answered with a short smile. In another moment I was in the
street.

My first ring at the bell of No. —— East Seventy-third Street brought
response in the shape of Mr. Winchester himself. Seeing me, his
countenance fell, but in another instant brightened as I observed:

“You sent for a detective, sir;” and quietly showed him my badge.

“Yes,” he murmured; “but I did not expect”——he paused. I was
used to these pauses; I do not suppose I look exactly like the
ordinary detective. “Your name?” he asked, ushering me into a small
reception-room.

“Byrd,” I replied. And taking as a compliment the look of satisfaction
which crossed his face as he finished a hasty but keen scrutiny of my
countenance and figure, I in turn subjected him to a respectful but
earnest glance of interrogation.

“There has been a robbery here,” I ventured.

He nodded, and a look of care replaced the affable expression which a
moment before had so agreeably illumined his somewhat stern features.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth,” he whispered, shortly. “Mrs.
Winchester’s diamonds.”

I started; not so much at the nature and value of the articles stolen,
as at the indefinable air with which this announcement was made by the
wealthy and potential broker and