gone, and
he was famished.

He left at last, went to a restaurant, ate a hearty meal, and returned
to the office rather late. On the floor lay a notification of a
special delivery letter, to be had at the nearest substation.

He was there in the shortest possible time.

The letter was from Dorothy. It began "Dear Jerold," but it merely
informed him she had found apartments on Madison Avenue, not far from
Twenty-ninth Street.

He wrote her a note to acquaint her with the fact that new developments
called him at once to Branchville, whence he might continue to Albany,
and this, with a dozen magnificent roses, he sent by special messenger
to Miss Jeraldine Root.

He was still enabled to catch a fairly early train from Grand Central
Station.

A little after eight o'clock he arrived in Branchville, found James
Pike's real-estate office ablaze with light, and walked in on that busy
gentleman, who rose in excitement to grasp him by the hand.

"You got my wire?" demanded Mr. Pike. "I'm awful glad you came. I
turned up something in the Hardy case that I think you ought to know.
Got a man coming 'round here in fifteen minutes who read up on the
murder suspicions and the rest of it, and he saw a stranger, down in
Hickwood the night of Hardy's death, get into Hardy's room at Mrs.
Wilson's. It just struck me you ought to know, and so I wired."

"Thank you very much," said Garrison. "I consider this highly
important. Who is your man?"

"He ain't a man, he's a boy; young Will Barnes," amended the coroner.
"Most people think he's just a lazy, no-account young feller, but I've
always said he was growin'. Goes fishin' a good deal, of course,
but---- There he goes, now!" He ran to the door, through the glass of
which he had seen a tall, lanky youth across the way.

"Hi, Will!" he yelled, "come over, the New York man is waiting!"

Young Barnes came slowly across the highway.

"I've got to git some hooks," he said. "If I don't get 'em now the
store'll close."

"This is more important than hooks," answered Pike. "Come in here.
Mr. Garrison, this is Mr. Barnes. Will, Mr. Garrison, the New York
detective."

Quite unimpressed by Garrison's personality or calling, Will advanced
and shook his hand.

Garrison looked him over quickly.

"You're the man who saw a stranger going into Hardy's room, at Mrs.
Wilson's, the night that Hardy died, I believe?" he said. "How did you
happen to be there?"

"He lives right