the young lady came there once a month and
drew a hundred dollars from some deposit to her credit, but that was all
they knew. Her name was Caroline Avondale, yet there was no one of that
name in the San Francisco Directory.

But Randolph's romantic curiosity would not allow the incident to rest
there. A favorable impression he had produced on Mr. Dingwall enabled
him to learn more, and precipitated what seemed to him a singular
discovery. "You will find," said the deputy manager, "the statement
of the first deposit to Miss Avondale's credit in letters in your
own department. The account was opened two years ago through a South
American banker. But I am afraid it will not satisfy your curiosity."
Nevertheless, Randolph remained after office hours and spent some time
in examining the correspondence of two years ago. He was rewarded at
last by a banker's letter from Callao advising the remittance of one
thousand dollars to the credit of Miss Avondale of San Francisco. The
letter was written in Spanish, of which Randolph had a fair knowledge,
but it was made plainer by a space having been left in the formal letter
for the English name, which was written in another hand, together with
a copy of Miss Avondale's signature for identification--the usual
proceeding in those early days, when personal identification was
difficult to travelers, emigrants, and visitors in a land of strangers.

But here he was struck by a singular resemblance which he at first put
down to mere coincidence of names. The child's photograph which he
had found in the portmanteau was taken at Callao. That was a mere
coincidence, but it suggested to his mind a more singular one--that the
handwriting of the address was, in some odd fashion, familiar to him.
That night when he went home he opened the portmanteau and took from the
purse the scrap of paper with the written address of the bank, and on
comparing it with the banker's letter the next day he was startled to
find that the handwriting of the bank's address and that in which the
girl's name was introduced in the banker's letter were apparently the
same. The letters in the words "Caroline" and "California" appeared as
if formed by the same hand. How this might have struck a chirographical
expert he did not know. He could not consult the paying teller, who was
supposed to be familiar with signatures, without exposing his secret and
himself to ridicule. And, after all, what did it prove? Nothing. Even