ry inducement to
self-restraint, showed himself the victim of such powerful emotion that
he would have been immediately surrounded and questioned if he had not
set his burden down in the vestibule and at once plunged with the girl
into the passing crowd. Do you think you can find them, Sweetwater?"

"Have you no clews to their identity beyond this parasol?"

"None, Sweetwater, if you except these few faded rose leaves picked up
from the floor of Mr. Adams's study."

"Then you have given me a problem, Mr. Gryce," remarked the young
detective dubiously, as he eyed the parasol held out to him and let the
rose-leaves drop carelessly through his fingers. "Somehow I do not feel
the same assurances of success that I did before. Perhaps I more fully
realize the difficulties of any such quest, now that I see how much
rests upon chance in these matters. If Miss Butterworth had not been a
precise woman, I should have failed in my former attempt, as I am likely
to fail in this one. But I will make another effort to locate the owner
of this parasol, if only to learn my business by failure. And now, sir,
where do you think I am going first? To a florist's, with these faded
rose-leaves. Just because every other young fellow on the force would
make a start from the parasol, I am going to try and effect one from
these rose-leaves. I may be an egotist, but I cannot help that. I can do
nothing with the parasol."

"And what do you hope to do with the rose-leaves? How can a florist help
you in finding this young woman by means of them?"

"He may be able to say from what kind of a rose they fell, and once I
know that, I may succeed in discovering the particular store from which
the bouquet was sold to this more or less conspicuous couple."

"You may. I am not the man to throw cold water on any one's schemes.
Every man has his own methods, and till they are proved valueless I say
nothing."

Young Sweetwater, who was now all nerve, enthusiasm, and hope, bowed. He
was satisfied to be allowed to work in his own way.

"I may be back in an hour, and you may not see me for a week," he
remarked on leaving.

"Luck to your search!" was the short reply. This ended the interview. In
a few minutes more Sweetwater was off.

The hour passed; he did not come back; the day, and still no Sweetwater.
Another day went by, enlivened only by an interchange of notes between
Mr. Gryce and Miss Butterworth. Hers was read by the old detective with
a smile