that the thief had been searching for the necklaces
intrusted to his care, Garrison was puzzled.

There seemed to be no possible connection between the two. He could
not understand what a thief who would take the one would require of the
other. Aside from his money, the gems were the only articles he
possessed of the slightest value or significance. Half persuaded that
the diamonds and pearls afforded the booty for which his visitor had
searched, he was once more in doubt as to whether he had lost Ailsa's
letter or not. He might find it still among his things, at his room in
Forty-fourth Street.

He was fully convinced the man would return no more. Nevertheless,
when he turned in at last, the jewels were under the pillow.

Branchville, in the morning, proved an attractive place of residence.
Half its male population went to New York as commuters. Its housewives
then bustled about their gardens or their chicken-coops, at the rear of
the houses, and a dozen old men gathered slowly at the post-office
store to resume the task of doing nothing.

Garrison experienced no difficulty in searching out Mrs. Webber, the
woman who had supplied certain details concerning the finding of the
body of the man, John Hardy, whose death had occurred here the previous
week.

The house, at the porch of which the body had been discovered, was
empty. Mrs. Webber went with Garrison to the place, showed him exactly
where the body had reclined, and left him alone at the scene.

He looked the details over carefully. The porch was low and roofed;
its eaves projected a foot. If, as Garrison fancied, the stricken man
might have come here in weakness, to lean against the post, and had
then gone down, perhaps leaving heel-marks in the earth, all signs of
any such action had been obliterated, despite the fact that no rains
had fallen since the date of the man's demise. Garrison scrutinized
the ground closely. A piece of broken crockery, a cork, the top of a
can, an old cigar, and some bits of glass and wire lay beside the
baseboard--the usual signs of neglect. The one man-made article in all
the litter that attracted Garrison's attention was the old cigar. He
took it up for a more minute examination.

It had never been lighted. It was broken, as if someone had stepped
upon the larger end; but the label, a bright red band of paper, was
still upon it. The wrapper had somewhat spread; but the pointed end
had been bitten off, half an