--YOU.
EDITH INWOOD.

Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window.

Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him.
And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain
Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying
the papers on the desk.

"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused.

The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what
on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood?
W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the
photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!"

The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window."

"What!"

"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are
sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your
window--eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured
stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain
velour."

"But--but I took that photograph! She stood there--there by that very
window!"

The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass.
And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see _her_ in this photograph,
Captain Harren?"

"Certainly. Can you not see her?"

"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood
by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come,
Captain Harren, we are going out together."

The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed
to fascinate him.

"You think that--that it's likely we are g-going to see--_her_!" he
faltered.

"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of
his lean fingers meditatively--"If I were you I should wear a silk hat
and a frock coat. It's--it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly,
"and we are liable to make a call."

Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And
when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision.

"Mr. Keen," he said, "I--I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all
s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow
I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her."

"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling.

"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if--if there was no chance, would you?
You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes--"

"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell y