ufferer. Her letters betray more
than a disturbed mind; they betray a disturbed brain. That man is the
cause and I mean to wring his secret from him. You are sure of his being
still in the house?"

"He was early this morning. He has lived a very quiet life these last few
days, the life of one waiting. He has not even had visitors, after that
one interview he held with your wife. I have kept careful watch on him.
Though a suspected character, he has done nothing suspicious while I've
had him under my eye."

"That's all right and I thank you, Gerridge; but it doesn't shake my
opinion as to his being the moving power in this fraud. For fraud it
is and no mistake. Of that I am fully convinced. Shall we go up? I want
to surprise him in his own room where he cannot slip away or back out."

"Leave that business to me; I'll manage it. If you want to see him in his
room, you shall."

But this time the detective counted without his host. Mr. Porter was not
in his room but in one of the halls. They encountered him as they left
the elevator. He was standing reading a newspaper. The disfigured jaw
could not be mistaken. They stopped where they were and looked at him.

He was intent, absorbed. As they watched, they saw his hands close
convulsively on the sheet he was holding, while his lips muttered
some words that made the detective look hard at his companion.

"Did you hear?" he cautiously inquired, as Mr. Ransom stood hesitating,
not knowing whether to address the man or not.

"No; what did he say? Do you suppose he is reading that paragraph?"

"I haven't a doubt of it; and his words were, 'Here's a damned
lie!'--very much like your own, sir."

Mr. Ransom drew the detective a few steps down the corridor.

"He said that?"

"Yes, I heard him distinctly."

"Then my theory is all wrong. This man didn't provide her with this
imaginary twin sister."

"Evidently not."

"And is as surprised as we are."

"And about as much put out. Look at him! Nothing yellow there! We shall
have to go easy with him."

Mr. Ransom looked and felt a recoil of more than ordinary dislike for the
man. The latter had put the paper in his pocket and was coming their way.
His face, once possibly handsome, for his eyes and forehead were
conspicuously fine, showed a distortion quite apart from that given by
his physical disfigurement. He was not simply angry but in a mental and
moral rage, and it made him more than hideous; it made him appalling.