eared! A brother who, from being a
Cadwalader, has become an Adams! An Eva whose name, as well as that of
the long-buried Evelyn, was to be heard in constant repetition in the
place where the murdered Felix lay with those inscrutable lines in his
own writing, clinched between his teeth! It is a snarl, a perfect snarl,
of which we have as yet failed to pull the right thread. But we'll get
hold of it yet. I'm not going to be baffled in my old age by
difficulties I would have laughed at a dozen years ago."

"But this right thread? How shall we know it among the fifty I see
entangled in this matter?"

"First, find the whereabouts of this young couple--but didn't you tell
me you had done so; that you know where they are?"

"Yes. I learned from the postmaster in Montgomery that a letter
addressed to Mrs. Thomas Adams had been sent from his post-office to
Belleville, Long Island."

"Ah! I know that place."

"And wishing to be assured that the letter was not a pretense, I sent a
telegram to the postmaster at Belleville. Here is his answer. It is
unequivocal: 'Mr. Poindexter of Montgomery, Pa. Mr. Thomas Adams and
Mrs. Adams of the same place have been at the Bedell House in this place
five days.'"

"Very good; then we have them! Be ready to start for Belleville by one
o'clock sharp. And mind, Sweetwater, keep your wits alert and your
tongue still. Remember that as yet we are feeling our way blindfold, and
must continue to do so till some kind hand tears away the bandage from
our eyes. Go! I have a letter to write, for which you may send in a boy
at the end of five minutes."

This letter was for Miss Butterworth, and created, a half-hour later,
quite a stir in the fine old mansion in Gramercy Park. It ran thus:

Have you sufficient interest in the outcome of a certain matter to
take a short journey into the country? I leave town at 1
P.M. for Belleville, Long Island. If you choose to do the
same, you will find me at the Bedell House, in that town, early in
the afternoon. If you enjoy novels, take one with you, and let me
see you reading it on the hotel piazza at five o'clock. I may be
reading too; if so, and my choice is a book, all is well, and you
may devour your story in peace. But if I lay aside my book and take
up a paper, devote but one eye to your story and turn the other on
the people who are passing you. If after you have done so, you
leave your book open,