another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following
figures:

[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols]

He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren.

"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years--but
it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels,
looking straight at the Tracer. "_Do_ you think I've had a touch of the
sun?"

"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you
or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid
his finger on the two symbols--

[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols]

Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the
Seal of Solomon to do with your case?"

"_She_--" muttered Harren, and fell silent.

The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing.

"Where is the photograph?"

Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at
the Tracer.

"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than
this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in
showing it to a living soul--my--my desire to find--her--"

"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you--the mere
desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could
justify your showing it unless you love her."

Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull
flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture
before the Tracer of Lost Persons.

Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his
finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had
drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek
resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture.

"When was this--this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly.

"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe
and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It
was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric
light. My camera lay on the table--there it is!--that kodak. I had taken
a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left."

He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture.

"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and
stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to
fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it,
let t