m, disposed thus *.*
--would not have happened to be on two different papers, in all human
probability.

After grave consultation of all his mental faculties in committee of the
whole, he arrived at the following conclusion,--that Miss Cynthia Badlam
was the depositary of a secret involving interests which he felt it his
business to defend, and of a document which was fraudulently withheld
and meant to be used for some unfair purpose. And most assuredly, Master
Gridley said to himself, he held a master-key, which, just so certainly
as he could make up his mind to use it, would open any secret in the
keeping of Miss Cynthia Badlam.

He proceeded, therefore, without delay, to get ready for a visit to that
lady at The Poplars. He meant to go thoroughly armed, for he was a very
provident old gentleman. His weapons were not exactly of the kind which
a housebreaker would provide himself with, but of a somewhat peculiar
nature.

Weapon number one was a slip of paper with a date and a few words
written upon it. "I think this will fetch the document," he said to
himself, "if it comes to the worst. Not if I can help it,--not if I can
help it. But if I cannot get at the heart of this thing otherwise, why,
I must come to this. Poor woman!--Poor woman!"

Weapon number two was a small phial containing spirits of hartshorn,
sal volatile, very strong, that would stab through the nostrils, like a
stiletto, deep into the gray kernels that lie in the core of the brain.
Excellent in cases of sudden syncope or fainting, such as sometimes
require the opening of windows, the dashing on of cold water, the
cutting of stays, perhaps, with a scene of more or less tumultuous
perturbation and afflux of clamorous womanhood.

So armed, Byles Gridley, A. M., champion of unprotected innocence,
grasped his ivory-handled cane and sallied forth on his way to The
Poplars.

CHAPTER XXX. MASTER BYLES GRIDLEY CALLS ON MISS CYNTHIA BADLAM.

MISS Cynthia Badlam was seated in a small parlor which she was
accustomed to consider her own during her long residences at The
Poplars. The entry stove warmed it but imperfectly, and she looked
pinched and cold, for the evenings were still pretty sharp, and the old
house let in the chill blasts, as old houses are in the habit of doing.
She was sitting at her table, with a little trunk open before her. She
had taken some papers from it, which she was looking over, when a knock
at her door announced a visitor,