southwest one,
and the one Mrs. Danforth said that the last tenant had chosen for his
own. "Therefore it ought to be more than ordinarily interesting," went on
Phyllis. "I remember now that Mrs. Danforth said he had asked permission
to leave there, as a little contribution to the bungalow, a few books
that he had finished with and did not wish to carry away. She left them
right where they were on a shelf in his room, instead of putting them in
the bookcase in the living-room. I'm sort of remembering these things she
told me, piecemeal, because Mrs. Danforth is a great talker and is always
giving you a lot of details about things you're not particularly
interested in, and you try to listen politely, but often find it an awful
bore. Then you try to forget it all as soon as possible!"

They found the bedroom in question somewhat more spacious and better
furnished than the others. But though they examined every nook and cranny
with care, they discovered nothing thrilling, or even enlightening,
within its walls till they came to the shelf of books. These, with the
exception of two books of recent fiction, were all of travel and politics
in foreign countries.

"My, but he must have been interested in India and China and Tibet and
those countries!" exclaimed Leslie, reading the titles. "I wonder why?"

She took one of them down and turned the pages idly. As she did so,
something fluttered out and fell to the floor. "Oh!" she cried, picking
it up and examining it. "Phyllis, this may prove very valuable! Do you
see what it is?" It was an envelop of thin, foreign-looking paper--an
empty envelop, forgotten and useless, unless perhaps it had been employed
as a bookmark. But on it was a name--the name no doubt of the recipient
of the letter it had once contained, and also a foreign address.

"Do you see what it says?" went on Leslie, excitedly. "'_Honorable Arthur
Ramsay_, _Hotel des Wagons-Lits_, _Peking_'. Why, Phyllis, that's his
name (which you couldn't remember!) and he was evidently at some time in
Peking!"

But Phyllis was puckering her brows in an effort of memory. "There's some
mistake here, I guess," she remarked at length, "for now I recall that
Mrs. Danforth said his name was Mr. Horatio Gaines!"

Leslie dropped the envelop back in the book, the picture of disappointment.
"It doesn't seem likely he'd have someone else's envelops in his books,"
she remarked. "And I think Honorable Arthur Ramsay of Peking sounds far