efore hurrying by down the hall. Who was that someone? I rose on my
elbow, and endeavoured to peer through the dark. Of course, I could see
nothing. But when I woke a second time, there was enough light in the
room, early as it undoubtedly was, for me to detect a letter lying on
the carpet just inside the door.

Instantly I was on my feet. Catching the letter up, I carried it to
the window. Our two names were on it--Mr. and Mrs. George Anderson: the
writing, Mr. Slater's.

I glanced over at George. He was sleeping peacefully. It was too early
to wake him, but I could not lay that letter down unread; was not my
name on it? Tearing it open, I devoured its contents,--the exclamation I
made on reading it, waking George.

The writing was in Mr. Slater's hand, and the words were:

"I must request, at the instance of Coroner Heath and such of
the police as listened to your adventure, that you make no
further mention of what you saw in the street under our windows
last night. The doctors find no bullet in the wound. This
clears Mr. Brotherson."

IV. SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE

When we took our seats at the breakfast-table, it was with the feeling
of being no longer looked upon as connected in any way with this case.
Yet our interest in it was, if anything, increased, and when I saw
George casting furtive glances at a certain table behind me, I leaned
over and asked him the reason, being sure that the people whose faces I
saw reflected in the mirror directly before us had something to do with
the great matter then engrossing us. His answer conveyed the somewhat
exciting information that the four persons seated in my rear were the
same four who had been reading at the round table in the mezzanine at
the time of Miss Challoner's death.

Instantly they absorbed all my attention, though I dared not give them a
direct look, and continued to observe them only in the glass.

"Is it one family?" I asked.

"Yes, and a very respectable one. Transients, of course, but very well
known in Denver. The lady is not the mother of the boys, but their aunt.
The boys belong to the gentleman, who is a widower."

"Their word ought to be good."

George nodded.

"The boys look wide-awake enough if the father does not. As for the
aunt, she is sweetness itself. Do they still insist that Miss Challoner
was the only person in the room with them at this time?"

"They did last night. I don't know how they will meet this stat