prise him so uncourteously. Anyway the
detective felt sure that there would be no surprise, except at the mere
question.

"I would like to ask you a question, Monsignor," said Curran smoothly,
"which I have no right to ask perhaps. I am looking for a man who
disappeared some time ago, and the parties interested hope that you can
give some information. You can tell me if the question is at all
impertinent, and I will go. Do you know Horace Endicott?"

There was no change in the priest's expression or manner, no starting,
no betrayal of feeling. Keeping his eyes on the detective's face, he
repeated the name as one utters a half-forgotten thing.

"Why has that name a familiar sound?" he asked himself.

"You may have read it frequently in the papers at the time Horace
Endicott disappeared," Curran suggested.

"Possibly, but I do not read the journals so carefully," Monsignor
answered musingly. "Endicott, Endicott ... I have it ... and it brings
to my mind the incident of the only railroad wreck in which I have ever
had the misfortune to be ... only this time it was good fortune for one
poor man."

Very deliberately he told the story of the collision and of his slight
acquaintance with the young fellow whose name, as well as he could
remember, was Endicott. The detective handed him a photograph of the
young man.

"How clearly this picture calls up the whole scene," said Monsignor much
pleased. "This is the very boy. Have you a copy of this? Do send me
one."

"You can keep that," said Curran, delighted at his progress, astonished
that Edith's prophecy should have come true. Naturally the next question
would be, have you seen the young man since that time? and Curran would
have asked it had not the priest broken in with a request for the story
of his disappearance. It was told.

"Of course I shall be delighted to give what information I possess,"
said Monsignor. "There was no secret about him then ... many others saw
him ... of course this must have been some time before he disappeared.
But let me ask a question before we go any further. How did you suspect
my acquaintance with a man whom I met so casually? The incident had
almost faded from my mind. In fact I have never mentioned it to a soul."

"It was a mere guess on the part of those interested in finding him."

"Still the guess must have been prompted by some theory of the search."

"I am almost ashamed to tell it," Curran said uneasily. "The truth is
that