ou to untangle. I have neither the necessary
calmness nor experience myself."

"But you surely have done something," protested Gerridge. "Telephoned to
her late home or--"

"Oh yes, I have done all that, but with no result. She has not returned
to her old home. Her uncle has just been here and he is as much mystified
by the whole occurrence as I am. He could tell me nothing, absolutely
nothing."

"Indeed! and the man, the one who whispered to her during the reception,
couldn't you learn anything about him?"

Mr. Ransom's face took on an expression almost ferocious.

"No. He's a stranger to Mr. Fulton; yet Mr. Fulton's niece introduced him
to me as a relative."

"A relative? When was that?"

"At the reception. He was introduced as Mr. Hazen (my wife's maiden name,
you know), and when I saw how his presence disturbed her, I said to her,
'A cousin of yours?' and she answered with very evident embarrassment, 'A
relative';--which you must acknowledge didn't locate him very definitely.
Mr. Fulton doesn't know of any such relative. And I don't believe he is
a relative. He didn't sit with the rest of the family in the church."

"Ah! you saw him in the church."

"Yes. I noticed him for two reasons. First, because he occupied an end
seat and so came directly under my eye in our passage down the aisle.
Secondly, because his face of all those which confronted me when I looked
for the cause of her sudden agitation, was the only one not turned
towards her in curiosity or interest. His eyes were fixed and vacant; his
only. That made him conspicuous and when I saw him again I knew him."

"Describe the man."

Mr. Ransom's face lightened up with an expression of strong satisfaction.

"I am going to astonish you," said he. "The fellow is so plain that
children must cry at him. He has suffered some injury and his mouth and
jaw have such a twist in them that the whole face is thrown out of shape.
So you see," continued the unhappy bridegroom, as his eyes flashed from
the detective's face to that of the manager's, "that the influence he
exerts over my wife is not that of love. No one could love _him_. The
secret's of another kind. What kind, what, what, what? Find out and I'll
pay you any amount you ask. She is too dear and of too sensitive a
temperament to be subject to a wretch of his appearance. I cannot bear
the thought. It stifles, it chokes me; and yet for three hours I've had
to endure it. Three hours! and with no prospe