er,
that the police had been watching there for seven weeks for Gualtier.
I went with them to the Prefecture of Police. I gave my letter of
introduction from the prefect of Marseilles, and was treated with the
utmost attention. The prefect himself informed me that they had been
searching into the whole case for weeks. They had examined all the
vessels that had arrived, and had inspected all their logs. They had
searched through foreign papers. They had visited every house in the
city to which a stranger might go. The prefect showed me his
voluminous reports, and went with me to the Harbor Bureau to show me
the names of ships which arrived here and were owned here. Never
could there be a more searching investigation than this had been.
What was the result?

"Listen," said Obed, with impressive emphasis, yet compassionately,
as Zillah hung upon his words. "I will tell you all in brief. First,
no such person as Miss Lorton ever came to the Hotel de l'Europe.
Secondly, no such person ever came to Naples at all. Thirdly, no ship
arrived here at the date mentioned by your sister. Fourthly, no ship
of that name ever came here at all. Fifthly, no ship arrived here at
any time this year that had picked up any one at sea. The whole thing
is untrue. It is a base fiction made up for some purpose."

"A fiction!" cried Zillah. "Never--never--she could not so deceive
me."

"Can the writing be forged?"

"I don't see how it can," said Zillah, piteously. "I know her writing
so well," and she drew the letter from her pocket. "See--it is a very
peculiar hand--and then, how could any one speak as she does about
those things of hers which she wished me to bring? No--it can not be
a forgery."

"It is not," said Obed Chute. "It is worse."

"Worse?"

"Yes, worse. If it had been a forgery she would not have been
implicated in this. But now she does stand implicated in this
horrible betrayal of you."

"Heavens! how terrible! It must be impossible. Oh, Sir! we have lived
together and loved one another from childhood. She knows all my
heart, as I know hers. How can it be? Perhaps in her confusion she
has imagined herself in Naples."

"No," said Obed, sternly. "I have told you about the post-marks."

"Oh, Sir! perhaps her mind was wandering after the suffering of that
sea voyage."

"But she never had any voyage," said Obed Chute, grimly. "This letter
was written by her somewhere with the intention of making you believe
that she was