but I did not forget that it stood very near the footpath
branching off to the station.

"You entered this hut as well as the big houses?" I intimated.

"And found," was his answer, "four walls; nothing more."

I let my finger travel along the footpath I have just mentioned.

"Steep," was his comment. "Up, up, all the way, but no precipices.
Nothing but pine woods on either side, thickly carpeted with needles."

My finger came back and stopped at the house marked M.

"Why is a letter affixed to this spot?" I asked.

"Because it stands at the head of the lane. Any one sitting at the
window L can see whoever enters or leaves the lane at this end. And some
one is always sitting there. The house contains two crippled children, a
boy and a girl. One of them is always in that window."

"I see," said I. Then abruptly: "What do you think of Deacon Spear?"

"Oh, he's a well-meaning man, none too fine in his feelings. He does not
mind the neighborhood; likes quiet, he says. I hope you will know him
for yourself some day," the detective slyly added.

At this return to the forbidden subject, I held myself very much aloof.

"Your diagram is interesting," I remarked, "but it has not in the least
changed my determination. It is you who will return to X., and that,
very soon."

"Very soon?" he repeated. "Whoever goes there on this errand must go at
once; to-night, if possible; if not, to-morrow at the latest."

"To-night! to-morrow!" I expostulated. "And you thought----"

"No matter what I thought," he sighed. "It seems I had no reason for my
hopes." And folding up the map, he slowly rose. "The young man we have
left there is doing more harm than good. That is why I say that some one
of real ability must replace him immediately. The detective from New
York must seem to have left the place."

I made him my most ladylike bow of dismissal.

"I shall watch the papers," I said. "I have no doubt that I shall soon
be gratified by seeing in them some token of your success."

He cast a rueful look at his hands, took a painful step toward the door,
and dolefully shook his head.

I kept my silence undisturbed.

He took another painful step, then turned.

"By the way," he remarked, as I stood watching him with an
uncompromising air, "I have forgotten to mention the name of the town in
which these disappearances have occurred. It is called X., and it is to
be found on one of the spurs of the Berkshire Hills." And, being by th