en the envelope away to examine it at his leisure? The
thought brought Kent to his feet.

"Good night, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes," he said jestingly, "I'll follow
your advice"--There was no opportunity to say more, for several men
had discovered the widow's perch on the stairs and came to claim their
dances. Over their heads McIntyre watched Kent stride downstairs, then
stooping over he picked up Mrs. Brewster's fan and sat down to patiently
await her return.

Kent's pursuit of the detective took longer than he had anticipated, and
it was after midnight before he finally located him at the office of
the Chief of Detectives in the District Building. "I've called for the
envelope you took from my safe early this evening," he began without
preface, hardly waiting for the latter's surprised greeting.

"Why, Mr. Kent, I left it lying on the porch table at the club,"
declared Ferguson. "Didn't you take it?"

"No." Kent's worried expression returned. "Like a fool I forgot the
envelope when that cheering broke out in the dining room and rushed to
find out what it was about; when I returned to the porch the envelope
was gone.

"Disappeared?" questioned Ferguson in astonishment.

"Disappeared absolutely; I searched the porch thoroughly and couldn't
find a trace of it," Kent explained. "And in spite of McIntyre's
contention that it might have blown out of the window, I am certain it
did not."

"The windows were open, and I recollect there was a strong draught,"
remarked Ferguson thoughtfully. "But not sufficient to carry away that
envelope."

"Exactly." Kent stepped closer. "Did you observe which one of our
companions stood nearest the porch table?"

Ferguson eyed him curiously. "Say, are you insinuating that one of those
people took your envelope?"

"Yes."

A subdued whistle escaped Ferguson. "What was in that envelope. Mr.
Kent," he demanded, "to make it of any value to that bunch?" and as Kent
did not answer immediately, he added, "Are you sure it had nothing to do
with Jimmie Turnbull's death and Philip Rochester's disappearance?"

"Quite sure." Kent's gaze did not waver before his penetrating look. "I
have already told you that the envelope contained old love letters,
and I very naturally do not wish them to fall into the hands of Colonel
McIntyre, the father of the girl I hope to marry."

Ferguson smiled understandingly. "I see. From what I know of Colonel
McIntyre there's a very narrow, nagging spirit concealed