rd with a lighted match in his hand. He gave a shout of
triumph finally, and reappeared from behind the bed with the broken
end of my knife in his hand.

"Very clumsy," he said. "_Very_ clumsy. Peter the dog could have done
better."

I had been examining the wall-paper about the wash-stand. Among the
ink-spots were one or two reddish ones that made me shiver. And seeing
a scrap of note-paper stuck between the base-board and the wall, I
dug it out with a hairpin, and threw it into the grate, to be burned
later. It was by the merest chance there was no fire there. The next
moment Mr. Holcombe was on his knees by the fireplace reaching for the
scrap.

"_Never_ do that, under such circumstances," he snapped, fishing among
the ashes. "You might throw away valuable--Hello, Howell!"

I turned and saw a young man in the doorway, smiling, his hat in his
hand. Even at that first glance, I liked Mr. Howell, and later, when
every one was against him, and many curious things were developing, I
stood by him through everything, and even helped him to the thing he
wanted more than anything else in the, world. But that, of course, was
later.

"What's the trouble, Holcombe?" he asked. "Hitting the trail again?"

"A very curious thing that I just happened on," said Mr. Holcombe.
"Mrs. Pitman, this is Mr. Howell, of whom I spoke. Sit down, Howell,
and let me read you something."

With the crumpled paper still unopened in his hand, Mr. Holcombe took
his note-book and read aloud what he had written. I have it before me
now:

"'Dog meat, two dollars, boat hire'--that's not it. Here. 'Yesterday,
Sunday, March the 4th, Mrs. Pitman, landlady at 42 Union Street, heard
two of her boarders quarreling, a man and his wife. Man's name, Philip
Ladley. Wife's name, Jennie Ladley, known as Jennie Brice at the
Liberty Stock Company, where she has been playing small parts.'"

Mr. Howell nodded. "I've heard of her," he said. "Not much of an
actress, I believe."

"'The husband was also an actor, out of work, and employing his
leisure time in writing a play.'"

"Everybody's doing it," said Mr. Howell idly.

"The Shuberts were to star him in this," I put in. "He said that the
climax at the end of the second act--"

Mr. Holcombe shut his note-book with a snap. "After we have finished
gossiping," he said, "I'll go on."

"'Employing his leisure time in writing a play--'" quoted Mr. Howell.

"Exactly. 'The husband and wife were not on good term