tective. "Fifthly
is the result of my poking about among Mr. Mansell's traps."

"Ah!" frowned the other, with a vivid remembrance of that picture of
Miss Dare, with its beauty blotted out by the ominous black lines.

"You are too squeamish for a detective," the other declared. "Guess
you're kept for the fancy business, eh?"

The look Mr. Byrd gave him was eloquent. "Go on," said he; "let us hear
what lies behind your fifthly."

"Love," returned the man. "Locked in the drawer of this young
gentleman's table, I found some half-dozen letters tied with a black
ribbon. I knew they were written by a lady, but squeamishness is not a
fault of mine, and so I just allowed myself to glance over them. They
were from Miss Dare, of course, and they revealed the fact that love, as
well as ambition, had been a motive power in determining this Mansell to
make a success out of his invention."

Leaning back, the now self-satisfied detective looked at Mr. Byrd.

"The name of Miss Dare," he went on, "brings me to the point from which
we started. I haven't yet told you what old Sally Perkins had to say to
me."

"No," rejoined Mr. Byrd.

"Well," continued the other, poking with his foot the dying embers of
the fire, till it started up into a fresh blaze, "the case against this
young fellow wouldn't be worth very much without that old crone's
testimony, I reckon; but with it I guess we can get along."

"Let us hear," said Mr. Byrd.

"The old woman is a wretch," Hickory suddenly broke out. "She seems to
gloat over the fact that a young and beautiful woman is in trouble. She
actually trembled with eagerness as she told her story. If I hadn't been
rather anxious myself to hear what she had to say, I could have thrown
her out of the window. As it was, I let her go on; duty before pleasure,
you see--duty before pleasure."

"But her story," persisted Mr. Byrd, letting some of his secret
irritation betray itself.

"Well, her story was this: Monday afternoon, the day before the murder,
you know, she was up in these very woods hunting for witch-hazel. She
had got her arms full and was going home across the bog when she
suddenly heard voices. Being of a curious disposition, like myself, I
suppose, she stopped, and seeing just before her a young gentleman and
lady sitting on an old stump, crouched down in the shadow of a tree,
with the harmless intent, no doubt, of amusing herself with their
conversation. It was more interesting than she e