me way unknown to us, he gave her cause for the sudden and
overwhelming rush of despair which alone supports this general theory of
suicide."

"The prospect grows pleasing. Where am I to look for my man?"

"Your ticket is bought to Derby, Pennsylvania. If he is not employed in
the great factories there, we do not know where to find him. We have no
other clew."

"I see. It's a short journey I have before me."

"It'll bring the colour to your cheeks."

"Oh, I'm not kicking."

"You will start to-morrow."

"Wish it were to-day."

"And you will first inquire, not for O. B., that's too indefinite; but
for a young girl by the name of Doris Scott. She holds the clew; or
rather she is the clew to this second O. B."

"Another woman!"

"No, a child;--well, I won't say child exactly; she must be sixteen."

"Doris Scott."

"She lives in Derby. Derby is a small place. You will have no trouble
in finding this child. It was to her Miss Challoner's last letter was
addressed. The one--"

"I begin to see."

"No, you don't, Sweetwater. The affair is as blind as your hat; nobody
sees. We're just feeling along a thread. O. B.'s letters--the real
O. B., I mean, are the manliest effusions possible. He's no more of
a milksop than this Brotherson; and unlike your indomitable friend he
seems to have some heart. I only wish he'd given us some facts; they
would have been serviceable. But the letters reveal nothing except
that he knew Doris. He writes in one of them: 'Doris is learning to
embroider. It's like a fairy weaving a cobweb!' Doris isn't a very
common name. She must be the same little girl to whom Miss Challoner
wrote from time to time."

"Was this letter signed O. B.?"

"Yes; they all are. The only difference between his letters and
Brotherson's is this: Brotherson's retain the date and address; the
second O. B.'s do not."

"How not? Torn off, do you mean?"

"Yes, or rather, neatly cut away; and as none of the envelopes were
kept, the only means by which we can locate the writer is through this
girl Doris."

"If I remember rightly Miss Challoner's letter to this child was free
from all mystery."

"Quite so. It is as open as the day. That is why it has been mentioned
as showing the freedom of Miss Challoner's mind five minutes before that
fatal thrust."

Sweetwater took up the sheet Mr. Gryce pushed towards him and re-read
these lines:

"Dear Little Doris:

"It is a snowy night, but it is all bright in