ears of Arthur Dillon's existence. The study might reveal
things which a young man preferred to leave in the shadows, but would
not deliver up to Sonia her lost Horace; and even if Arthur came to know
what they were doing, he could smile at Edith's vagaries.

"What shall we do?" he ventured to say at last.

"Find Horace Endicott in Arthur Dillon," was the unexpected answer,
energetic, but sighed rather than spoken. "I fear him, I love him, I
hate him, and I'm going to destroy him before he destroys me. Begin
to-night."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A FIRST TEST.

Curran could not study the Endicott problem. His mind had lost edge in
the vain process, getting as confused over details as the experimenter
in perpetual motion after an hundred failures. In favor of Edith he said
to himself that her instincts had always been remarkable, always
helpful; and her theory compared well with the twenty upon which he had
worked years to no purpose. Since he could not think the matter out, he
went straight on in the fashion which fancy had suggested. Taking it for
granted that Dillon and Endicott were the same man, he must establish
the connection; that is, discover the moment when Horace Endicott passed
from his own into the character of Arthur Dillon.

Two persons would know the fact: Anne Dillon and her son. Four others
might have knowledge of it; Judy, the Senator, Louis, and Monsignor. A
fifth might be added, if the real Arthur Dillon were still living in
obscurity, held there by the price paid him for following his own whim.
Others would hardly be in the secret. The theory was charming in itself,
and only a woman like Edith, whose fancy had always been sportive, would
have dreamed it. The detective recalled Arthur's interest in his pursuit
of Endicott; then the little scenes on board the _Arrow_; and grew dizzy
to think of the man pursued comparing his own photograph with his
present likeness, under the eyes of the detective who had grown stale in
the chase of him.

He knew of incidents quite as remarkable, which had a decent explanation
afterwards, however. He went about among the common people of Cherry
Hill, who had known Arthur Dillon from his baptism, had petted him every
week until he disappeared, and now adored him in his success. He renewed
acquaintance with them, and heaped them with favors. Loitering about in
their idling places, he threw out the questions; hints, surmises, which
might bring to the surface their f