that what you have been so busy about?" He glanced at the
half-finished letter that lay on his wife's desk.

"Yes." Grace looked at him rather sheepishly. "I am terribly
disappointed," she said. "I really hoped that I had discovered something
that would help you." She took from the desk the piece of paper that
contained Alice Watson's address, and tearing it into bits, dropped them
slowly into the waste basket.

Duvall observed her action.

"What are you tearing up?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Merely the bit of paper that contained the woman's assumed
name and address. It is of no use any longer." She glanced at a scrap of
the paper, about half an inch square, that remained between her fingers,
then started. "There must have been something on the other side," she
exclaimed. "There's a part of a name here--printed or engraved. It looks
like 'Ford.'"

Duvall sprang from his chair and made a dive for the scrap basket.

"Ford!" he exclaimed. "That's queer! We must get every scrap of that
card at once."

It took the two of them several minutes to gather from the basket the
tiny pieces into which Grace had torn the bit of paper. Then they fitted
them together. Duvall saw at once, as soon as he picked up the first
scrap, that the address had been written on a card. When the several
pieces had at last been assembled upon the top of the desk, it became
quite clear that the Watson name and address had been hastily scrawled
upon the torn half of a visiting card. Slowly and carefully Duvall
turned the bits over. The words engraved upon the opposite side filled
him with delight.

There were first the letters "cia," followed by the name "Ford." Beneath
were two figures, a "6" and a "2," and after them, West 57th Street.

Duvall gazed at the result in surprise, then taking from his pocketbook
the torn half of the card he had found the night before in the cab, he
laid it beside the fragments on the desk. The two fitted exactly. The
name and address were both plain. Evidently the woman who had
interviewed the cabman, Leary, and the woman who had escaped from the
cab were one and the same. She had taken a card from her purse, torn it
in half, written the "Alice Watson" address that she gave the cabman on
one half, and thrust the other back into her handbag. Later, when Duvall
had attempted to examine the contents of the bag, the bit of card had
fallen to the floor. All that was sufficiently clear.

Grace, looking over her husb