her head. She did not openly admit it, but she feared
him. Thus it was that she waited. Waited hoping that her watching
might enable her to intercept the second letter from Matilda Grath,
which she thought must inevitably follow, and which might give her a
more definite due upon which to base her action.

But as the weeks went by and no letter came, she grew restive. In this
mood one day she read of the remarkable capture of the true criminal,
made by Mr. Barnes, in the Petingill case. She did not know that this
detective was the office boy who, while in the employ of Dudley and
Bliss, had had the temerity to shadow her husband, hoping to convict
him of murder. Had she known, it is doubtful whether she would have
visited him. As it was, she impulsively determined to engage him to
unravel the mystery connected with Leon, and she decided to give him
the copy of the letter which she had made, as a clue with which to
begin.

Thus it was that Mr. Barnes, at the height of his ambition, the chief
of a private detective agency, was astonished one morning to read the
name "Madame Emanuel Medjora," upon a card handed to him in his
private office. He pondered awhile, and searched his memory to account
for the fact that the name sounded familiar, as he muttered it aloud.
In an instant he recalled his first attempt at unravelling a great
crime, and, with a feeling that chance was about to give him an
opportunity to retrieve the bungling failure of that day, long ago, he
invited the lady into his sanctum.

Once in the presence of the detective, Madame was half frightened at
what she had undertaken, but it was too late to retreat. So in hurried
words she explained her case, gave Mr. Barnes the letter, and engaged
him to investigate the matter.

"Find out for me," said she, "who this Leon Grath really is. I will
pay you well for the information. But understand this. I exact the
utmost secrecy. You must not come to my house, nor write to me. When
you wish to communicate with me, put a personal in the _Herald_ saying
"Come," and I will understand. Above all things, promise me that
whatever you discover shall be known only to myself; that you will
make no use of the knowledge except as I may direct."

"Madame may depend upon my discretion," answered the detective, and
with a restless doubt in her breast, which was to gnaw at her peace of
mind for weeks to come, Madame Medjora returned to the home of the
husband whom she had promise