cstasy.

I had a very different opinion of the case for my own part, but I did
not venture on expressing it. I was too anxious to know how Mr. James
Smith had been discovered and produced at the examination to enter
into any arguments. Mr. Dark guessed what was passing in my mind, and,
telling me to sit down and make myself comfortable, volunteered of his
own accord to inform me of all that I wanted to know.

"When I got my instructions and my statement of particulars," he began,
"I was not at all surprised to hear that Mr. James Smith had come back.
(I prophesied that, if you remember, William, the last time we met?)
But I was a good deal astonished, nevertheless, at the turn things
had taken, and I can't say I felt very hopeful about finding our man.
However, I followed my master's directions, and put the advertisement
in the papers. It addressed Mr. James Smith by name, but it was very
carefully worded as to what was wanted of him. Two days after it
appeared, a letter came to our office in a woman's handwriting. It was
my business to open the letters, and I opened that. The writer was short
and mysterious. She requested that somebody would call from our office
at a certain address, between the hours of two and four that afternoon,
in reference to the advertisement which we had inserted in the
newspapers. Of course, I was the somebody who went. I kept myself from
building up hopes by the way, knowing what a lot of Mr. James Smiths
there were in London. On getting to the house, I was shown into the
drawing-room, and there, dressed in a wrapper and lying on a sofa, was
an uncommonly pretty woman, who looked as if she was just recovering
from an illness. She had a newspaper by her side, and came to the point
at once: 'My husband's name is James Smith,' she says, 'and I have my
reasons for wanting to know if he is the person you are in search of.'
I described our man as Mr. James Smith, of Darrock Hall, Cumberland. 'I
know no such person,' says she--"

"What! was it not the second wife, after all?" I broke out.

"Wait a bit," says Mr. Dark. "I mentioned the name of the yacht next,
and she started up on the sofa as if she had been shot. 'I think you
were married in Scotland, ma'am,' says I. She turns as pale as ashes,
and drops back on the sofa, and says, faintly: 'It is my husband. Oh,
sir, what has happened? What do you want with him? Is he in debt?' I
took a minute to think, and then made up my mind to tell her every