ed sleuths of the sheriff's office was
thwarted by the vigilant and resourceful Henry.

The worthy milkman suddenly conceived a bright idea. Among his customers
was a young woman lawyer to whom he spoke about the matter. Properly
indignant at the treatment to which he had been subjected she offered to
help him. She was a novice at serving summonses, but possessed plenty of
the quality so necessary in the courts known as "nerve." This modern
Portia, after a preliminary survey of the premises which she was to take
by storm, quickly determined upon a plan of action. Learning in the
neighborhood that Mrs. Marsh was "at home" to her friends every Thursday
afternoon, she decided to be one of the guests. Dressing herself in her
best finery she took a hansom cab and drove to West Seventy-second
Street, arriving at the Marsh residence simultaneously with a venerable
old lady whom she politely assisted with her wraps. The old dame had no
recollection of having seen the young woman before, but distrusting her
own bad memory, concluded that she was one of Mrs. Marsh's younger
friends whom she had forgotten, and thanked her profusely for her kind
attentions. The two women approached the front door together. To the
hawk-eyed butler, always on the alert, the young woman was a stranger,
and, under ordinary circumstances, his suspicions might have been
aroused, but seeing her chatting in the most cordial way with one of his
mistress's oldest friends, he felt that any questioning on his part
would be resented as unwarranted impertinence. Bowing low, therefore, he
ushered the two ladies up the thickly carpeted stairs into the
beautifully decorated reception rooms, which were already crowded with
smartly dressed women. In the centre stood the amiable hostess, the
conventional smile of welcome on her face, exchanging greetings with
each arrival. When the new visitors were announced everyone turned, and
Mrs. Marsh pranced amiably forward. Her venerable old friend she
welcomed effusively, and then her eyes fell inquiringly on the stranger.
The smile disappeared, a shadow darkened her face. Instinct told her
something was wrong. Approaching the young woman she said with asperity:

"I haven't the pleasure----"

"You're Mrs. Marsh, I believe," smiled the lawyer.

"Yes," stammered the other, "I'm Mrs. Marsh, but I haven't the
pleasure----"

"Quite so," replied the young woman coolly. Quickly drawing a long,
ominous-looking folded paper from