etective, after sending the Cumberlands'
second man before him to light up the stable, disappeared beneath the
great door, whither we more slowly followed him.

"Not here!" came in a shout from above, as we stepped in from the night
air; and in a few minutes the detective came running down the stairs,
baffled and very ill at ease. Suddenly he encountered my eye. "Oh--I
know!" he cried, and started for the gate.

"I am going to follow him," I confided to Arthur. "Look for me again
to-night; or, at least, expect a message. If fortune favours us, as I now
expect, we two shall sleep to-night as we have not slept for months." And
waiting for no answer, not even to see if he comprehended my meaning, I
made a run for the gate, and soon came up with Sweetwater.

"To the cemetery?" I asked.

"Yes, to the cemetery."

And there we found him, in the same place where we had seen him before,
but not in the same position. He was sunken now to the ground; but his
face was pressed against the rails, and in his stiff, cold hand was
clutched a letter which afterwards we read.

Let it be read by you here. It will explain the mystery which came near
destroying the lives of more than Adelaide.

* * * * *

No more unhappy wretch than I goes to his account. I killed her who had
shown me only goodness, and will be the death of others if I do not
confess my dreadful, my unsuspected secret. This is how it happened. I
cannot give reasons; I cannot even ask for pardon.

That night, just as I was preparing to leave the stable to join the other
servants on their ride to Tibbitt's Hall, the telephone rang and I heard
Miss Cumberland's voice. "Zadok," she said--and at first I could hardly
understand her,--"I am in trouble; I want help, and you are the only one
who can aid me. Answer; do you hear me and are you quite alone in the
stable?" I told her yes, and that I was listening to all she said. I
suspected her trouble, and was ready to stand by her, if a man like me
could do anything.

I had been with her many years, and I loved her as well as I could love
anybody; though you won't think it when I tell you my whole story. What
she wanted was this: I was to go to the ball just as if nothing had
happened, but I was not to stay there. As soon as I could, I was to slip
out, get a carriage from some near-by stable, and hurry back up the road
to meet her and take her where she would tell me; or, if I did not meet
he