s.
Magnus flushed angrily as she caught my eye.

"No, I'm not mad," she said "though I feared last night that I would
be. What I have told you is perfectly true. I saw my husband write
that note three nights ago--it is not the only one. He can have no
peace until that money is paid--neither can I. You must not fail me."

"I will not," I assured her. "I will bring it to you myself."

"Thank you," she said, and arose to go. "I shall want you to be
present to-night."

"I shall be glad to help you in any way I can."

"Thank you," she said again, and I opened the door for her and watched
her for a moment as she crossed the outer office. Then I closed the
door and went back to my desk.

The note was lying where I had dropped it, and I picked it up and
examined it again. Then I got out some samples of Magnus' writing and
compared them with the note, but so far as I could tell the hands were
the same. Besides, she had said she had seen her husband write it.

This gave me pause. How could she have seen him? How had he appeared
to her? Perhaps she had written it herself, in her sleep, under some
sort of self-hypnosis--but, in that case, would the handwriting have
been her husband's? Or did hypnosis involve that, too? I ended by
turning to the phone and calling for 3100 Spring. That, as you may
know, is for 300 Mulberry Street; and 300 Mulberry Street is the
drab building in which the police system of New York has its
headquarters--or did have until the other day.

"Is Jim Godfrey there?" I asked.

"I'll see; hold the line."

A moment later I heard Godfrey's voice ask: "Hello? What is it?"

"It's Lester, Godfrey," I said. "I wish you would run over to the
office and see me this morning."

"All right," he replied; "I'll be over right away."

I hung up the receiver with a sigh of relief. If anybody could see
through the puzzle, I knew that Godfrey could. I had met him first
in connection with the Holladay case, when he had deserted the force
temporarily to accept a place as star reporter on the yellowest of the
dailies; but he had resigned that position in a moment of pique, and
the department had promptly gobbled him up again.

Fifteen minutes later his card was brought in to me, and I had him
shown in at once.

"How are you, Lester?" he said, and I can't tell you what a tonic
there was in the grip of his hand. "What's wrong this morning?"

"You know Mrs. Magnus?" I asked.

"Widow of Peter? Yes; I've heard of