went out together--at the intersection of Queen and King Streets,
they parted.

"Remember! eleven o'clock at my house," said the Captain. "If any one
of us isn't there, the other two will know he needs assistance."

Croyden went north on King Street. It was a chilly November night, with
frost in the air. The moon, in its second quarter and about to sink
into the waters of the Bay, gave light sufficient to make walking easy,
where the useless street lamps did not kill it with their timid
brilliancy. He passed the limits of the town, and struck out into the
country. It had just struck ten, when they parted--he would walk for
half an hour, and then return. He could do three miles--a mile and a
half each way--and still be at the Carrington house by eleven. He
proceeded along the east side of the road, his eyes busy lest, in the
uncertain light, he miss anything which might serve as a clue. For the
allotted time, he searched but found nothing--he must return. He
crossed to the west side of the road, and faced homeward.

A mile passed--a quarter more was added--the feeble lights of the town
were gleaming dimly in the fore, when, beside the track, he noticed a
small white object.

It was a woman's handkerchief, and, as he picked it up, a faint odor of
violets was clinging to it still. Here might be a clue--there was a
monogram on the corner, but he could not distinguish it, in the
darkness. He put it in his pocket and hastened on. A hundred feet
farther, and his foot hit something soft. He groped about, with his
hands, and found--a woman's glove. It, also, bore the odor of violets.

At the first lamp-post, he stopped and examined the handkerchief--the
monogram was plain: E. C.--and violets, he remembered, were her
favorite perfume. He took out the glove--a soft, undressed kid
affair--but there was no mark on it to help him. He glanced at his
watch. His time had almost expired. He pushed the feminine trifles back
into his pocket, and hurried on.

He was late, and when he arrived at Ashburton, Captain Carrington and
Macloud were just about to start in pursuit.

"I found these!" he said, tossing the glove and the handkerchief on the
table--"on the west side of the road, about half a mile from town."

Macloud picked them up.

"The violets are familiar--and the handkerchief is Elaine's," said he.
"I recognize the monogram as hers."

"What do you make of it?" Captain Carrington demanded.

"Nothing--it passes me."

Hi