ct
duplicate, even to its blue paper cover; and I sat down and began
recalling everything Searles had told me about his efforts to find the
actress.

The telephone on the table at my elbow rang until Flynn came in timidly
to quiet it.

"If it's Mr. Torrence--" I began.

"It's the Barton station, sir. There's a telegram." I snatched the
receiver spitefully, thinking it only the methodical Torrence confirming
the appointment made by telephone. But the operator began reading:

"SPRINGFIELD, OHIO, September 30, 1917.

"Cable from London agent says last forwarding address for Violet
Dewing was hotel in Seattle. Please ask Harkaway & Stein and anybody
else on Broadway who might know what companies are on coast or
headed that way. I find no clew in theatrical papers and don't want
to mess things by making inquiries direct. If party can be located,
will start West immediately.

"SEARLES."

The thought of Searles was comforting, and I reproached myself for not
having summoned him at the beginning of my perplexities. I immediately
dictated this reply:

"Take first train East and come to me at Barton as quickly as possible.
Hope to have news for you."

I then jotted down on a scratch pad this memorandum:

"The young woman representing herself as Mrs. Bashford and now
established in my uncle's house is one or all of the following persons:

1. Uncle Bash's widow.
2. An impostor.
3. A spy of some sort, pursued by secret agents.
4. Violet Dewing, an actress.
5. The most interesting and the loveliest and most charming girl
in the world."

I checked off one, two, and three as doubtful if not incredible; four
seemed possible, and five was wholly incontrovertible. But the first
three certainly required much illumination, and the fourth I was
helpless to reconcile with any of the others but the last. I reviewed
Searles's enthusiastic description of the young woman who had inspired
him to write "Lady Larkspur," and could only excuse my stupidity in not
fitting it to Alice the first time I saw her on the ground that Barton
was the last place in the world I should have looked for her. And then,
with all his exuberance, Searles hadn't done her justice!

The following day nothing of importance happened, though Alice and Mrs.
Farnsworth again spent the morning in the woodland, presumably studying
Searles's play. My thoughts galloped through my head in a definite