ught in the mind and on the lips of
the proletary as he wended his way through the quiet and well-nigh
deserted streets to the older part of the town. How much it might have
been modified if he had known that the man whose face Miss Farnham had
seen at the window was silently tracking him through the tree-shadowed
streets is a matter for conjecture. Also, it is to be presumed that
much, if not all, of the complacency would have vanished if he could
have been an unseen listener in the Farnham sitting-room, dating from
the time when little Miss Gilman pattered off to bed, leaving the father
and daughter sitting together under the reading-lamp.

At first their talk was entirely of the window apparition; the daughter
insisting upon its reality, and the father trying to push it over into
the limbo of things imagined. Driven finally to give all the reasons for
her belief in the realities, Charlotte related the incident of the
afternoon.

"You may remember that I told you over the 'phone that I had a caller
this afternoon," she began.

The doctor did remember it, and said so.

"You can imagine how frightened I was when I tell you that it was a
man--a detective from New Orleans who has, or at least who says he has,
been travelling thousands of miles to find me."

Doctor Bertie was tickling his bearded chin thoughtfully. "He should
have come to me first," he said, frowning a little at the invasion of
his home. "It was about that bank robbery, I suppose?"

"Yes; he thought I could tell him the man's real name. It seems that
they have no identity clew to work upon. I knew at the time that
'Gavitt' was an assumed name; the man as good as told me so, you
remember. This Mr. Broffin wouldn't believe that I couldn't tell him the
real name, and along toward the last he grew quite angry and
threatening. He insisted upon it that I knew the robber--that I had
known him before the crime was committed; and he intimated pretty
broadly that I am still in communication with him. Of course, it is all
very absurd; but it is also very annoying to think that somebody is
spying upon you all the time. I didn't want to speak of it before Mr.
Griswold; but it was this detective who came twice to look in at our
windows this evening."

By this time the good Doctor Bertie had become the indignant Doctor
Bertie.

"We can't have that at all!" he said incisively. "You did your whole
duty in that bank matter; and it was a good deal more than most yo