when unduly excited, but not given
to drink and very fond of games. A member once of a club devoted to
contests with foils and target-shooting. Always champion. Visits a
certain young lady three times a week.

XXIV--Curator Jewett. A widower with two grandchildren--a daughter
married to an Englishman and living in Ringold, Hants, and a son, owner
of a large ranch in California. Lives, when in city, at Hotel Gorham.
Known too well for any description of himself or character to be
necessary here. If he has a fault, or rather a weakness, it is his
extreme pride in the museum and his own conduct of its many affairs.

As on the evening before, Mr. Gryce lingered longest over one name. He
was still brooding anxiously over it when the telephone rang at his
elbow and he was called up from Headquarters. Cablegrams had been
received from London and Paris in acknowledgment of those sent, and in
both these cablegrams promises were made of a full examination into the
antecedents of Madame Duclos and her companion, Miss Willetts.

That was all. No further news regarding them from any quarter. Mr. Gryce
hung up the receiver with a sigh.

"It is likely to be a long road full of unexpected turns and perilously
near the precipice's edge," he muttered in weary comment to himself.
"Nothing to start from but----"

Here Sweetwater walked in.

Mr. Gryce showed surprise. He had not expected to see the young man
himself. Perhaps he was not quite ready to, for he seemed to shrink, for
one brief instant, as from an unwelcome presence.

But the cheer which always entered with Sweetwater was contagious,
and the old detective smiled as the newcomer approached, saying
significantly:

"I had those dreams you spoke of last night, Mr. Gryce, and found them
too weighty for the telephone."

"I see, I see! Sit down, Sweetwater, and tell me how they ran. I haven't
as much confidence in my own dreams as I hope to have in yours. Speak
up! Mention names, if you want to. No echo follows confidences uttered in
this room."

"I know that; but for the present perhaps it will be best for me to
follow your lead, and when I have to speak of a certain person, say X as
you do. X, Mr. Gryce, is the man who for reasons we do not yet understand
brought up the discarded bow from the cellar and stored it somewhere
within reach on the floor above. X is also the man who for the same
unknown reason robbed the quiver hanging in the southern gallery of one
of its ar