impatience, he was about
to give utterance to an angry ejaculation against the man he believed to
be the author of all this mischief, when he suddenly heard a voice
raised from some unknown quarter near by, saying in strange tones he was
positive did not proceed from Miss Firman:

"Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? Clemmens or Orcutt? I cannot
remember."

Naturally excited and aroused, Mr. Gryce rose and looked about him. A
door stood ajar at his back. Hastening toward it, he was about to lay
his hand on the knob when Miss Firman returned.

"Oh, I beg you," she entreated. "That is my mother's room, and she is
not at all well."

"I was going to her assistance," asserted the detective, with grave
composure. "She has just uttered a cry."

"Oh, you don't say so!" exclaimed the unsuspicious spinster, and
hurrying forward, she threw open the door herself. Mr. Gryce
benevolently followed. "Why, she is asleep," protested Miss Firman,
turning on the detective with a suspicious look.

Mr. Gryce, with a glance toward the bed he saw before him, bowed with
seeming perplexity.

"She certainly appears to be," said he, "and yet I am positive she spoke
but an instant ago; I can even tell you the words she used."

"What were they?" asked the spinster, with something like a look of
concern.

"She said: 'Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? Clemmens or Orcutt? I
cannot remember.'"

"You don't say so! Poor ma! She was dreaming. Come into the other room
and I will explain."

And leading the way back to the apartment they had left, she motioned
him again toward a chair, and then said:

"Ma has always been a very hale and active woman for her years; but this
murder seems to have shaken her. To speak the truth, sir, she has not
been quite right in her mind since the day I told her of it; and I often
detect her murmuring words similar to those you have just heard."

"Humph! And does she often use his name?"

"Whose name?"

"Mr. Orcutt's."

"Why, yes; but not with any understanding of whom she is speaking."

"Are you _sure_?" inquired Mr. Gryce, with that peculiar impressiveness
he used on great occasions.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," returned the detective, dryly, "that I believe your mother
does know what she is talking about when she links the name of Mr.
Orcutt with that of your cousin who was murdered. They belong together;
Mr. Orcutt was her murderer."

"_Mr. Orcutt?_"

"Hush!" cried Mr. Gryce, "you will wake