, and--and Miss Elizabeth, although
she's away at boarding school, and--and Emily Thompson, the cook,
and--and me. My name's Mary. Mary Wickes."

"Thank you, Mary," Duvall replied, entering the names carefully in his
notebook. "And Mr. Perkins, the elder Mr. Perkins, I mean, is he the
lawyer?"

"No, sir. It's Mr. Robert that's the lawyer, sir. Mr. William Perkins is
in the leather business."

"Ah, yes. I see. Thank you very much indeed. And there are no boarders,
or other persons whatever living in the house?"

"No, sir. Not any, sir."

Duvall closed his book and put it carefully in his pocket.

"Now, Mary," he continued. "Just one more question. Does any one sleep
in the attic?"

"The attic, sir? Why, no sir. Cook and I sleep on the fourth floor, sir,
but the attic isn't used, except for storage, sir. Are you going to put
that in the directory too, sir?" The girl regarded him with wondering
eyes.

"No, Mary. Not in the directory. But we want to be sure not to omit any
names, and I thought that if there was anyone living in the attic----"
he paused.

"No one, as I've told you. Nobody ever goes up there, so far as I know.
Is that all, sir?"

"Yes. That's all. Thank you. Good morning."

Duvall went down the steps, and proceeded to the subway station,
somewhat mystified. He had handled many curious cases in the past, many
that had been notable for their intricacy, their complexity of motive
and detail. But here, he felt, was a case of a very different sort, the
peculiarity of which lay in its astonishing lack of clues of any sort.
Usually in the past there had been motives, evidence, traces of some
kind or other, upon which to build a case. Here there was nothing,
except the three mysterious letters, the one equally mysterious
telegram. He felt baffled, uncertain which way to turn. In rather a
dissatisfied frame of mind he made his way to the telegraph office in
lower Broadway. There were several clerks engaged in receiving messages.
He approached one of them.

"This telegram," he said, holding out the slip of yellow paper Mrs.
Morton had given him, "was sent from this office at half past eight this
morning. Can you by any chance give me a description of the person who
sent it?" He leaned over and addressed the clerk in a low tone. "I am a
detective," he said. "The telegram is part of a blackmailing scheme."

The man looked at him for a moment, and then consulted with an older
man, evidently his superior.