place, how do you suppose that this
young Wenham Gardner spent the last week of his stay in New York?"

"How should I know?" Tavernake replied, impatiently.

"By realizing every cent of his property on which he could lay his
hands," the detective continued. "It isn't at any time an easy business,
and the Gardner interest is spread out in many directions, but he must
have sailed with something like forty thousand pounds in hard cash.
A suspicious person might presume that that forty thousand pounds has
found its way to the stronger of the combination."

"Anything else?" Tavernake asked.

"I won't worry you much more," the detective answered. "There are a few
other circumstances which seem to need explanation, but they can wait.
There is one serious one, however, and that is where you come in."

"Indeed!" Tavernake remarked. "I was hoping you would come to that
soon."

"The two sisters, Beatrice and Elizabeth, have been together ever
since we can learn anything of their history. Those people who don't
understand the disappearance of Wenham Gardner would like to know why
they quarreled and parted, why Beatrice is keeping away from her sister
in this strange manner. I personally, too, should like to know from Miss
Beatrice when she last saw Wenham Gardner alive."

"You want me to ask Miss Beatrice these things?" Tavernake demanded.

"It might come better from you," Pritchard admitted. "I have written her
to the theatre but naturally she has not replied."

Tavernake looked curiously at his companion.

"Do you really suppose," he asked, "that, even granted there were any
unusual circumstances in connection with that quarrel--do you seriously
suppose that Beatrice would give her sister away?"

The detective sighed.

"No doubt, Mr. Tavernake," he said, "these young ladies are friends of
yours, and perhaps for that reason you are a little prejudiced in their
favor. Their whole bringing-up and associations, however, have certainly
not been of a strict order. I cannot help thinking that persuasion might
be brought to bear upon Miss Beatrice, that it might be pointed out to
her that a true story is the safest."

"Well, if you've finished," Tavernake declared, "I'd like to tell you
what I think of your story. I think it's all d--d silly nonsense! This
Wenham Gardner, by your own saying, was half mad. There was a quarrel
and he's gone off to Paris or somewhere. As to your suggestions about
Mrs. Gardner, I think they'r