llow. That is the reason his body
was never claimed."

"He wore a high beaver hat. A farm hand would not be apt to wear a high
beaver hat."

"What do you know about it?" demanded Mr. Douglas.

"Nothing; I am only guessing."

"Well, you are guessing wrong. He wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat."

"He did?"

"Yes."

"You are sure?"

"I can see him as plainly as though my eyes were fixed on his dying face
at this moment."

"And he had clear black eyes--regular French eyes."

"Well, it's strange how you talk, Mr. Newspaper Man; you're not good at
guessing. His eyes were not black; I will never forget the color of his
eyes; they were fixed on me with a look of agony while he tried to
speak. They were a clear blue--yes, sir, as blue as the midday sky."

Our readers can imagine the exultation of the detective as he elicited
the description we have recorded, and indeed he had reason to exult, for
he had secured a clue in the most remarkable manner. His keenness had
been marvelous; his success was equally wonderful; but he had after all
only secured a starter. But there was a revelation to come that caused
him to stop and consider whether or not any credit really was due him,
and whether it was not a strange Providence which had after forty years
guided him to the startling starting point for the following up of a
great clue.

The old man's suspicions had at last been aroused. He glanced at the
detective in a suspicious manner, and said:

"See here, young man, I am not a fool; no, sir, neither am I blind--I
mean intellectually blind."

"You are a very bright and remarkable old gentleman."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"You mean it?"

"I do."

"Then please tell me what you are driving at. You appear particularly
interested in the death of this old Frenchman, that occurred over forty
years ago."

"What makes you think I am interested?"

"Oh, I can see; you have asked me very strange questions. You have done
more; you have questioned me in such a manner as to quicken my
memory--yes, you have brought vividly before my mind all that occurred
on that day when that Frenchman was killed."

"Mr. Douglas, you are easily misled."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"No, I am not."

"Oh, yes."

"You are seeking to mislead me now, but you can't. You are not a
newspaper man, no, sir."

"I am not?"

"No."

"What am I?"

"Shall I tell you?"

There came an amused smile to our hero's face, and he appreciated more
keenly what a bri