resence of the wireless set in the auto the
night the millionaire's son disappeared.

"I can't see just how your messages could aid us in finding my son." The
magnate spoke more calmly. "However, all things are possible. May I see
the copies?"

"Of course," said Curlie, hesitatingly, "this is a private matter. Few
persons know of our service. It is the desire of the government that
they should not know. These are not for publication. Do you understand
that?"

"You have my word."

Curlie passed the sheath of papers over the desk.

Slowly, one by one, the great man read them. His movement was not
hurried. He digested every word. Like many another great man he had
formed the habit of gathering, as far as possible, the full meaning of
any set of facts by his own careful research, before allowing his
opinion to be influenced by others.

He had gone half through the pack when a door over at the right opened
and a girl, dressed in some filmy stuff which brought out the smoothness
of her neck and arms and the beauty of her complexion, entered the room.

Curlie caught his breath. It was the girl he had seen on the horse that
morning, the magnate's daughter.

She had advanced halfway to her father's desk before she became aware of
Curlie's presence. Then she started back with a stammered: "I--I beg
your pardon."

"It's all right." The first smile Curlie had seen on the great man's
face now curved about his mouth. "You may remain. This is no secret
chamber."

"Fa--father," she faltered, gripping at her throat, "does he know--know
anything--about--about Vincent?"

"I can't tell yet. I am going over the messages. Please be seated."

The girl sank into a deep leather-cushioned chair. Without looking at
her Curlie was aware of the fact that she was studying him, perhaps
trying to make up her mind where she had seen him before. This made him
exceedingly uncomfortable. He was greatly relieved when at last the
magnate spoke.

"Gladys," he addressed the girl, "did you say you found some sort of map
in Vincent's room?"

"Oh, yes," she sprang to her feet. "A photograph of a very strange
looking map and also one of some queer foreign writing."

"Will you run and get those photographs?"

"Yes, father."

"It's strange," the older man mused after she had gone. "I don't
understand it at all. These messages, they are--"

"If you please--" Curlie broke in.

"Wait!" commanded the other, holding up his hand for silence. "Le