trange about that?"

"Only this: That's the name of a woman who has lived in these mountains
for forty years, and who died here three days ago. To-day we're going
to bury her."

This _was_ a blow to the detective's expectations. What awful mistake had
he made? Or had it been made by the man detailed to steal the name from
the package--or by the woman in the shop, or by all these combined? He
could not stop to ask; but he caught at the first loose end which
presented itself.

"Well, it isn't she we're after, that's certain. The one we want is
middle-aged, and plain in looks and dress. If she came into your town, it
was yesterday or possibly the night before. You wouldn't be apt to notice
her, unless your attention was caught by her lameness. Do you remember
any such person?"

"No, and I don't think anyone like that passed through my station. We're
off the main road, and our travelers are few. I would have noticed the
arrival of a woman like that."

Mr. Gryce, with an exclamation of chagrin, hung up the receiver. He felt
completely balked.

But old as he was, he still had some of the tenacity of youth. He was not
willing to accept defeat without one more effort. Going downtown as
usual, he wandered again into the little dry-goods shop to see if the
package had been sent.

Yes, it had gone, but the expressman had had some trouble with a drunken
man who actually took the package out of his hands and didn't give it
back without a squabble. Strange how men can drink till they can't see,
and so early in the morning, at that!

Mr. Gryce's vigorous hunch dismissed summarily this expression of opinion
as altogether feminine. But he had something to say about the package
itself, which kept the good woman waiting, though a customer or two
demanded her attention.

"You'll think me a fussy old man," said he, "but I've worried about that
package all night. She needs a new dress so much, and I'm afraid you
didn't have the right address. I remember it now--it was--was----"

"Barford on the Hudson," she finished promptly. Evidently she begrudged
the time she was wasting on his imbecilities.

"That's it; that's it. 'Way up in the Catskills, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Those people are waiting, sir. I shall really----"

"One moment! I want to buy something more for her. But I'll send it
myself this time; I won't bother you again. Another dress, something
bright and prettier than anything she has. She'll forgive me. She'll be