ifferent colors and materials, naturally,
since we make a point of exclusiveness. The royal blue velvet copy was
sold to Juanita Leigh in January, 1918. I am sorry I cannot give you the
exact day of the month, but our records show the month only. I took the
liberty of showing a picture of the dress to the only saleswoman in the
department who has been with us that long, but she cannot remember the
sale. Twelve years is a long time, you know."

"Indeed it is," Dundee agreed regretfully. "You have been immensely
helpful, however, Miss Thomas, and I thank you with all my heart."

"If you could just tell _me_--confidentially, of course," Miss Thomas
whispered, "what sort of clue this dress is--"

"I don't know, myself!" the detective admitted. "But," he added to
himself, after he had escaped the buyer's natural curiosity, "I intend
to find out!"

Before he could take any further steps along that particular path,
however, Dundee had an appointment to keep. Upon arriving at his hotel
that morning he had made two telephone calls. He smiled now as he
recalled the surprise and glee of one of his former Yale classmates, now
a discouraged young bond salesman, with whom he had kept in touch.

"You want to borrow my name and my kid sister?" Jimmy Randolph had
chortled. "Hop to it, old sport! But you might tell me what you want
with such intimate belongings of mine."

"You may not know it," Dundee had retorted, "but young Mr. James
Wadley Randolph, Jr., scion of the famous old Boston family, is going
to visit that equally famous school, Forsyte-on-the-Hudson, to see
whether it is the ideal finishing school for his beloved young sister,
Barbara.... She's about fifteen now, isn't she, Jimmy?"

"Going on sixteen, and one of Satan's prize hellions," Jimmy Randolph
had answered. "The family would be eternally grateful if you could get
Forsyte to take her, but make them promise not to have any more chorus
girls who plan to get murdered, as directors of their amateur
theatricals. Bab would be sure to be mixed up in the mess.... I suppose
that's the job you're on, you flat-footed dick, you!"

The second telephone call had secured an appointment at the Forsyte
School for "Mr. James Wadley Randolph, Jr., of Boston," and Dundee,
rather relishing his first need for such professional tactics, relaxed
to enjoy the ten-mile drive along the Hudson.

It was a quarter to twelve when his taxi swept up the drive toward the
big grey-stone, turr