danger of hereditary
taint."

"Come, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel, "what have you to say now?"

Mr. Barnes's reply was calculated to startle his hearers, but seemed to
have little effect. He said:

"Mr. Mitchel, who do you think killed Rose Mitchel?"

"I don't think I am bound to answer," replied Mr. Mitchel, quickly.

"I wish you a good-afternoon," said the detective, dryly. "Will you go
with me, Mr. Neuilly?"

Before the old gentleman could reply Mrs. Mitchel interposed:

"Don't go, Mr. Neuilly. You have seen nothing of Rose yet, and besides
we would like you to attend our reception to-night."

"Ha! Ha! Mr. Barnes! Is she not worthy of being my wife? She takes your
witness away from you, for I think you will stay, will you not, Mr.
Neuilly?"

"It will be a joy to do so. Mr. Barnes, under the circumstances I know
you will excuse me, and forgive me, will you not?"

"Certainly. You are right to stay. I will leave you all to your
happiness. And I hope it will last. Good-day," with which he left them.

"Really it is too bad," said Mr. Mitchel, "but these detectives are
always so sanguine. Just think of it, Queen, he thinks, or he thought,
perhaps, would be more correct, that you were a murderer's wife. What do
you say, eh?"

For answer she kissed him gently on the forehead, and then went out and
brought back Rose.

CHAPTER XVI.

MR. BARNES DISCOVERS A VALUABLE CLUE.

Immediately after the wedding Mr. Mitchel and his bride started west,
intending to spend their honeymoon in the Yosemite Valley, having
promised Mrs. Remsen and Dora, however, to join them in the White
Mountains before the end of the season. About the first of July the
Remsens and the Van Rawlstons went to Jefferson, New Hampshire, a small
town along the base of the Pliny Range of mountains, from which a
magnificent view of the Presidential Range, only ten miles away, is to
be obtained. About the middle of the month Mr. Randolph determined to
visit the same place, and was intensely disgusted on alighting from the
stage, which reaches the Waumbeck Hotel about eight o'clock at night, to
be greeted familiarly by Mr. Alphonse Thauret. It was evident that his
rival did not intend to lose any chance to win the hand of Dora Remsen.

If one has anything of the artistic in his nature he could scarcely fail
to enjoy himself at Jefferson. The town is practically a single road,
well up the side of the mountain range. Thus the hotels all look o