re were at least twenty cuttings, of all sizes, from a half page from
a Sunday supplement to a couple of lines from a financial column. But
all bore the name of Victor Mahr more or less conspicuously displayed.
Two scraps showed conclusively that they had been cherished and handled
more than all the others. One was a sketch of the millionaire's country
estate; the other, a reproduction from a photograph of his old-fashioned
and imposing city residence.

"H'm!" said Brencherly. "It's pretty clear that she had a reason for
occupying that park bench, hey? And she certainly has patronized the
news bureau, or been a patient collector herself. See that?" He pushed
forward the largest of the clippings. "That's three years old. I
remember when that came out. It was after Teddy's sensational playing at
the Yale-Harvard game. They had the limelight well turned on then, you
remember. And that"--he smoothed another slip--"that announcement of his
purchase of 'Allanbrae' is at least five years old. She's been
treasuring all this for a long time. Where did you find them?"

"When I put her on the bed," Long replied, "her collar seemed to be
choking her, so I loosened it, and a button or two. There was a pink
string around her throat and a little old chamois bag--like you might
put a turnip-watch in. I took it in here and found--that stuff--what do
you think?"

"I think that we're getting near the answer to something we all want to
know," said Brencherly. "But it means a lot to a lot of people to keep
the police off--for the present. I want to be sure."

"How do you suppose she got in?" said Long, insinuatingly.

"Don't know yet--but we'll find that out. Meantime, don't use the
telephone for anything you have to say to anybody. And the other woman,
let me tell you, has nothing to do with this case. I'll tell you now,
before your curiosity makes you make a fool of yourself--she's been
hunted for high and low, because she's had aphasia--forgets who she is,
and all that, every once in a while, and her people have been offering a
reward. Just happened to make a double haul, that's all. But you don't
get in on the first one. Now are you satisfied?" Brencherly looked at
his companion quizzically.

Long grunted. He was rather annoyed at having the occurrence so simply
explained.

"Oh, well," he yawned, "you're on this case, and I'm only your lobbygow;
so I suppose I've got to let it go at that. But, say, I'm tired. Let's
turn in, or,