n Boston. This young man was already in Chicago, making
arrangements for his family, who were to come as soon as informed by
him that apartments in the already crowded city were in waiting. They
were 'all ready for the flitting,' and were now wondering why 'Gerry'
did not wire them. He had written that his plans 'were near
completion,' and that he should telegraph them in two or three days at
the latest, at the time of writing. The three days were just about to
expire, hence the excitement visible in the penmanship of Miss O'Neil.
Betwixt impatience and anxiety she confessed herself 'growing really
fidgety,' especially as 'Gerry' was always so prompt, 'and then--don't
think me silly, dear--but, really, Chicago is such a wicked, dangerous
place, especially now.'

I smiled as I read this paragraph, and thought of Master 'Gerry'
doubtless giving himself a last day or two of freedom from escort
duty, and of fun, perhaps, on Midway. Decidedly, detectives are not
seers.

And the second letter. Since the first did not tell me how or where to
find the owner of the little bag, this letter must. And her
name--would that be revealed? I opened the missive and read it
through, with some surprise and a great deal of admiration.

I had been right in my conjectures of the writer. I found her name
signed in full at the bottom of her last thick sheet of creamy
note-paper; she had penned the letter in her own room that very
morning, and had held it unsealed and only half addressed until she
had applied at her State post-office for the expected letter from her
friend, and this having been received, she had thrust the
newly-written missive into the little bag, hoping, doubtless, soon to
meet her correspondent, who might now be on the way, and to tell her
story--for the letter contained a story--which, doubtless, she would
much prefer to do.

And now, so much can a few written pages do, I almost felt that I knew
June Jenrys, for that was her name, and her friend Hilda O'Neil.

Miss O'Neil's letter had told me first something about herself: that
she was a petted and somewhat spoiled only daughter; something of an
heiress, too, if one might judge from her prattle about charming and
costly costumes and a rather reckless expenditure of pin-money; and
that she was betrothed to Gerald Trent, of the great Boston firm of
Trent and Sons, with the full consent and approval of all concerned.
What life could be more serene? Young, fair, rich; a lo