anything to
fortune. Dr. Tarpion will give the information. He shall be the mutual
friend--the go-between to unravel this tangled web of deception.

If David Lockwin shall in future discover himself to Esther, he must have
the aid of a discreet and loving friend. Dr. Tarpion is the man. This
letter will open the way for further disclosures. It is as follows:

PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL.

DEAR SIR:--For about a year I have seen fit to offer to Mrs. Lockwin such
consolation as I thought might lessen her grief. Will you kindly inform
me if my suggestions have at any time mitigated her sorrow? I shall be
happy to know that an earnest and faithful labor has done some little
good. You may inclose a letter to the care of Robert Chalmers, New York
City, who will deliver it to me.

The reply is prompt:

CHICAGO, May 1.--I am in receipt of a type-written communication from an
unknown party, and am not unwilling to inform the writer that Mrs.
Lockwin's mail all comes to me. I have for a year burned every one of
the consolatory letters alluded to, in common with thousands of other
screeds, which I have considered as so many assaults on the charity of an
unhappy lady.

The series of letters from New York have, however, been the most
persistent of these demonstrations. I have expected that at the proper
time we should have a claimant, like the Tichborne estate. Some
experience in administrative affairs, together with the timely
suggestions of a friend, lead me to note the opportunity for a claimant
in our case. David Lockwin's body was not found. I have, therefore,
kept a sharp eye out for claimants, and will say to the writer of the
"consolatory letters" that our proofs of Lockwin's death are ample. Two
persons saw him die. Mrs. Lockwin is a sagacious woman, keenly aware of
the covetousness aroused by the public mention of her great wealth.

The writer will therefore, if wise, abandon his attentions and
intentions. If I receive any more of his "consolatory letters" I shall
look up Robert Chalmers with detectives. Respectfully,

IRENAEUS TARPION, M. D.

CHAPTER VI

THE YAWL

It is about 10 o'clock at night in the office of the great newspaper.
The night editor sits at his desk reading the latest exchanges. The
telegraph editor labors under a bright yellow light, secured by the use
of a vast expanse of yellow paper.

The assistant telegraph editor is groaning over a fraudulent dispatch
f