"3. F, a small town, some sixteen or seventeen miles from R, had for its Methodist minister, in July of last year, a man who has since died, Samuel Stebbins by name. Date of decease, Jan. 7 of this year.
"4. Name of man in employ of S. S. at that time is Timothy Cook. He has been absent, but returned to F two days ago. Can be seen if required.""Ah, ha!" I cried aloud at this point, in my sudden surprise and satisfaction; "now we have something to work upon!" And sitting down I penned the following reply:
"T. C. wanted by all means. Also any evidence going to prove that H. C. and E. L. were married at the house of Mr. S. on any day of July or August last."
Next morning came the following telegram:
"T. C. on the road. Remembers a marriage. Will be with you by 2 p.m."
At three o’clock of that same day, I stood before Mr. Gryce. "I am here to make my report," I announced.
The flicker of a smile passed over his face, and he gazed for the first time at his bound-up finger-ends with a softening aspect which must have done them good. "I’m ready," said he.
"Mr. Gryce," I began, "do you remember the conclusion we came to at our first interview in this house?"
"I remember the one you came to."
"Well, well," I acknowledged a little peevishly, "the one I came to, then. It was this: that if we could find to whom Eleanore Leavenworth felt she owed her best duty and love, we should discover the man who murdered her uncle."
"And do you imagine you have done this?"
