two letters, which Mr. Skinner carefully
perused.

"I guess you'd better tell me who you are," he suggested.

"I am the husband of the Duchess of Souspennier," Mr. Sabin answered.

"The Duchess send any word home at all?" Mr. Skinner asked.

Mr. Sabin produced a worn telegraph form. It was handed in at Fifth
Avenue, New York, at six o'clock on Friday. It contained the single word
'Good-bye.'

"H'm," Mr. Skinner remarked. "We'll find all you want to know by
to-morrow sure."

"What do you make of the two letters which I received?" Mr. Sabin asked.

"Bunkum!" Mr. Skinner replied confidently.

Mr. Sabin nodded his head.

"You have no secret societies over here, I suppose?" he said.

Mr. Skinner laughed loudly and derisively.

"I guess not," he answered. "They keep that sort of rubbish on the other
side of the pond."

"Ah!"

Mr. Sabin was thoughtful for a moment. "You expect to find, then," he
remarked, "some other cause for my wife's disappearance?"

"There don't seem much room for doubt concerning that, sir," Mr. Skinner
said; "but I never speculate. I will bring you the facts to-night
between eight and eleven. Now as to the business side of it."

Mr. Sabin was for a moment puzzled.

"What's the job worth to you?" Mr. Skinner asked. "I am willing to pay,"
Mr. Sabin answered, "according to your demands."

"It's a simple case," Mr. Skinner admitted, "but our man at the Waldorf
is expensive. If you get all your facts, I guess five hundred dollars
will about see you through."

"I will pay that," Mr. Sabin answered.

"I will bring you the letters back to-night," Mr. Skinner said. "I guess
I'll borrow that locket of yours, too."

Mr. Sabin shook his head.

"That," he said firmly, "I do not part with." Mr. Skinner scratched his
ear with his penholder. "It's the only scrap of identifying matter
we've got," he remarked. "Of course it's a dead simple case, and we can
probably manage without it. But I guess it's as well to fix the thing
right down."

"If you will give me a piece of paper," Mr. Sabin said, "I will make you
a sketch of the Duchess. The larger the better. I can give you an idea
of the sort of clothes she would probably be wearing."

Mr. Skinner furnished him with a double sheet of paper, and Mr. Sabin,
with set face and unflinching figures, reproduced in a few simple
strokes a wonderful likeness of the woman he loved. He pushed it away
from him when he had finished without remark. Mr. Skin