e man who had followed all the way from Dorothy's residence not only
was waiting, but remained on Garrison's trail.

At a quarter of ten Garrison ensconced himself in a train for
Branchville. His "shadow" was there in the car. The run required
fifty minutes. Hickwood, a very small village, was passed by the cars
without a stop. It was hardly two miles from the larger settlement.

The hour was late when Garrison arrived. He and his "shadow" alighted
from the train and repaired to a small, one-story hotel near the
railway depot, the only place the town afforded. They were presently
assigned to adjoining rooms.

Garrison opened his suit-case on the bureau, removed one or two
articles, and left the receptacle open, with the cover propped against
the mirror. Despite the lateness of the hour he then went out, to roam
about the village. His fellow traveler watched only to see him out of
the house, and then returned in haste.

In the town there was little to be seen. The houses extended far back
from the railroad, on considerably elevated hills. There was one main
thoroughfare only, and this was deserted. The dwellings were dark. No
one seemed stirring in the place, though midnight had not yet struck.

Garrison was out for half an hour. When he returned his suit-case was
closed. He thought nothing of a matter so trifling till he looked
inside, and then he underwent a feeling as if it had been rifled. But
nothing was gone, so far as he could see. Then he noticed the
folding-pocket, for its fastening cord was undone. How well he
remembered placing there the letter from Ailsa, months ago! A little
surprised that he had so utterly forgotten its existence, he slipped
his hand inside the place--and found it empty!

Even then he entertained no suspicions, for a moment. The letter, like
the photograph, was no longer a valued possession. Yet he wondered
where it could have gone. Vaguely uncertain, after all, as to whether
he had left it here or not, his eye was suddenly caught by the
slightest movement in the world, reflected in the mirror of the bureau.
The movement was up at the transom, above a door that led to the next
adjoining room.

Instantly turning away, to allay any possible suspicion that he might
be aware of the fact that someone was spying upon him, Garrison moved
the suit-case to a chair, drew from his pocket a folded paper that
might have appeared important--although merely a railroad
folder--