  Geoffrey Haywood sat in his private office in Dalton. It was the day after the night of the strange and alarming proceedings at Rocky Beach. He was alone, and had been alone for some hours. He was dressed neatly, his hair was combed in its usual slick manner, and his beard was brushed smooth. But his face did not bear its wonted expression of tranquillity. It was disturbed and distorted, and anxiety was portrayed in every lineament. No one had seen him in this condition; it was only when in entire seclusion that he allowed his feelings thus to manifest themselves. But to-day he kept himself in seclusion nearly the whole time, having no thoughts for anything but the thousand and one terrifying apprehensions that flooded his mind. He knew not what to do. Asense of impending disaster—a conviction that justice was about to overtake him—nearly crushed him. He endeavored in vain to contemplate the situation calmly, to deliberately calculate his safest and most available course. As yet, he could only sit in a state of inaction, confusion, and dread. He took no dinner. The hour of noon passed, and at two o’clock he still remained alone and meditative. All at once an unusual noise was heard. Heavy footsteps passed through the store below, ascended the stairs, approached the door of his apartment, sounding louder and louder, and finally halted. An imperative rap was given. The guilty man cowered in terror, and remained for a moment perfectly still. The rap was repeated. Drawing a bottle from a cupboard, Haywood took a deep draught, and, by a violent effort composing himself, answered the summons. His black eyes glittered, and his form stiffened in rigid ceremony as he opened the door. “Geoffrey Haywood, in the name of the Government of the United States Iarrest you as a smuggler!” “Sir!” said Haywood, with a lame assumption of indignation, “Ido not understand you.” “And I,” said Leonard, unable to restrain his excitement, “charge you with willfully conspiring against the life of a fellow-citizen by withholding evidence that would have acquitted him on a wrongfully preferred charge of murder!” “Leonard Lester!” gasped Haywood. “Yes, it is I. Look at me well, for you will soon be out of the way of looking at honest men’s faces.” “Gentlemen, what ridiculous farce is this? What do you mean by invading my premises and using such threatening language?” Mr.Stark here took the floor. “Let me explain in a few words,” he said, in a quiet tone. “Who,” growled Haywood, “has been so false?” “One who knows,” said Mr.Stark, impressively, “of your agency in the murder of Colonel Conrad.” These words staggered Haywood. He reeled and caught a chair for support. The desolation and dismay that filled his soul found vivid expression in his face. “Do you surrender?” asked Mr.Stark. “I surrender,” he gasped. The officer approached him. “One thing more,” said Mr.Stark. “The last message of Colonel Conrad, the letter he wrote to lawyer Tibbs, one end of which is torn off, is in your possession. We want it.” “How,” said Haywood, in a daze of bewilderment, “do you know this?” “We have the dying word of your man Snags,” replied Mr.Stark. “Well,” said Haywood, rallying suddenly, “Ipronounce it an infernal lie! If you want that paper, you must find it the best way you can.” “Very well,” said Stark, coolly. “If you stick to that we will proceed at once. Shall we open your desk and overhaul your private papers? You have only to say the word.” “No, no. I’ll give it to you.” Haywood was humble again. “Snags gave it to me, but Idon’t see why he thought Iwanted it. There’s nothing of it. It has no meaning. Iwish Ihad burned it.” He went to his desk, opened a private drawer, and produced the letter. Mr.Stark took it and placed it in his pocket. “That is all at present, Ibelieve,” said Mr.Stark. “Officer, take charge of your man.” There was a sensation of the liveliest description in Dalton that day. Geoffrey Haywood’s store was closed, and its proprietor was in the hands of the officers of the law. The news of the arrest and the nature of the offense soon got noised about, and afforded a subject for wondering discussion by the entire community. There was a strange meeting in Lawyer Tibbs’ office. The letter had been delivered to its rightful owner, who was, as will be recollected, “Timothy Tibbs, Esq., Att’y, Dalton.” Mr.Stark, Leonard Lester, Mr.Royalton, and the proprietor of the office comprised the assemblage. Mr.Tibbs and Mr.Royalton had been informed of the events of the preceding six months, and knew the whole situation of affairs. The last letter of Colonel Conrad was read by Mr.Tibbs in the presence of those assembled. It was as follows: “DALTON, August, 18—. “TIMOTHY TIBBS, Esq. “Dear Sir: Events have recently been brought to light which have led me to make a new will. Strange revelations have been made, and Inow see a supposed friend in the light of a treacherous enemy. The person Irefer to is Geoffrey Haywood. The story of his guilt is told in certain documents brought to me by the son of my dead brother. What my action will be during Haywood’s life, Ihave not determined. Ihave made the will promptly, however, in view of the ever present fact that death may overtake me at any time. Ido not mean to convey the idea that Ihave any forebodings of immediate dissolution, for Ihope to live many years yet. But Irecognize the fact that ‘in the midst of life we are in death.’ This guilt of Geoffrey Haywood Ido not wish to discuss now. Isimply wish to say that, in the event of my death at any time (and in the absence of any further instructions on the subject), you may look for my will, for the documents to which Ihave alluded, and for a considerable amount of money in gold coin—about thirty thousand dollars—in a secret recess in the east wall of my library. The recess is behind a small case of book-shelves, and may be opened by pressing on a hidden spring at——” “Here the letter breaks off,” said Mr.Tibbs. “The corner is torn, and the next word or words are missing.” “The next words,” said Mr.Royalton, “are ‘seven o’clock.’ Here is the missing fragment. Let us see if the two torn edges fit each other.” “They match exactly,” said Mr.Tibbs. “See!” All looked, and saw that it was true. “But I confess that this is rather blind to me,” said Mr.Tibbs. “One page of the sheet is covered, but Colonel Conrad evidently intended to write more, for there is no signature.” “Yes,” said Mr.Royalton, “and while he was reading what he had already written, he was killed, and the sheet torn from his hand.” This view was accepted by all. “The matter is not at all blind to me,” said Leonard. “Iremember distinctly of a large clock, reaching from floor to ceiling, on the east side of the room; and Ibelieve that a pressure on the figures indicating the hour of seven o’clock will result in opening the secret recess.” “It may be true,” said Mr.Stark, “but it is certainly very singular.” “Colonel Conrad was noted for his eccentricities,” said Mr.Royalton. “Yes,” added Mr.Tibbs, “and he was a genius in mechanics. He was always cobbling up some curious contrivance. The least that we can do is to follow the instructions in this letter, and be governed by whatever results follow.” The four gentlemen repaired to Elm Grove, and related to Florence Darley, as briefly as possible, their errand. Full explanations were not entered into, but were deferred to a subsequent period. Lawyer Tibbs simply told her of the letter and its contents, reserving until a more convenient time the tale of its long concealment and strange recovery. A visit to the library, and a pressure on the dial of the clock at the place indicated at first, resulted in nothing. Perplexity and chagrin ensued. Suddenly Florence exclaimed: “Let me make a suggestion, gentlemen. Suppose you wait until the hour of seven. Perhaps the time, as well as the place, is indicated by the words ‘seven o’clock.’” The suggestion was acted upon. At seven o’clock that evening the experiment was tried again. This time it was successful. The clock struck seven, the pressure was made, and lo! the case of book-shelves swung slowly from the wall, revealing a compartment composed of shelves, drawers, and unique recesses. “Success!” exclaimed Leonard, and excited exclamations of delight burst from the lips of all present. An examination of the contents of the secret recess was next in order, and this was, by common consent, given in charge of Mr.Tibbs, he being the attorney of the estate. But little more remains to be told. The new will, duly signed and witnessed, left the bulk of the property, in equal divisions, to Florence Darley and Carlos Conrad. Leonard Lester also received a legacy of a few thousand dollars, and some of the servants were the recipients of small behests. To Geoffrey Haywood, Colonel Conrad simply left his forgiveness. The documents of Carlos Conrad’s father fully demonstrated Haywood’s wickedness—the details of which need not be recounted. The criminal and false friend received his just deserts, being tried, found guilty, and sentenced to a long term of Carlos Conrad, under good nursing, speedily recovered from his illness, and returned to Dalton to take possession of the valuable property that had become his. It may be interesting to the reader to know that he wooed and won Florence Darley; that his great love for her met with a satisfying response. Leonard Lester resumed his old position in the importing house of Duncan & Mishler, and was soon after admitted as a partner in the business. His own savings, combined with the legacy of Colonel Conrad, enabled him to purchase an interest, while his knowledge of the business, his integrity, and his known capabilities, rendered him a valuable accession to the firm. On the return from his next trip to Europe, he brought with him, as a bride, a dark-eyed daughter of the old world, whom he had met, loved, and won. Luke Felton, the mute, proved to be both amiable and of bright capabilities, and from a pupil he came to be a teacher in the institution where he had been so unexpectedly placed and educated. Barker, the servant, more weak-minded than vicious, and conscience-smitten at the part he had taken in abetting the designs of Haywood, departed from Dalton, and never confessed his agency in the matter. Mr.Stark and his associates, in the work of bringing villainy to light, were, of course, amply compensated. And now, having seen the evil-doers and mischief-making characters of our tale brought to justice, and their designs frustrated; having seen our hero standing before the world with name unstained, and rejoicing in the smooth-running course of true love; having witnessed the dawn of prosperity on those whom untoward circumstances had afflicted with temporary disaster, we can afford to let the curtain drop. [THE END.] THE SECRET SERVICE SERIES. 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