The following week was to me one of busy idleness. Now at the cottage, where Bethel, pain-racked and delirious, buffeted between life and death. Now closeted for a half-hour with the new night operator. Keeping an eye upon Dimber Joe, who continued his lounging and novel reading, and who was, to all appearances, the idlest and most care-free man in Trafton.

I saw less of Jim Long than pleased me, for, when he was not bound to the chariot wheel of "our old woman," he contrived somehow to elude me, or to avoid all tÉte-Â-tÉtes. I scarcely saw him except in the presence of a third party.

Mr. Warren, or one or two other members of the party who had met me at Jim Long's cabin, were constantly to be seen about Trafton. During the day they were carelessly conspicuous; during the night their carelessness gave place to caution; but they were none the less present, as would have been proven by an emergency.

The new telegraph operator was a host in himself. He was social, talkative, and something of a lounger. He found it easy to touch the pulse of Trafton gossip, and knew what they thought at Porter's concerning Bethel's calamity, Long's arrest and subsequent release under bail, etc., without seeming to have made an effort in search of information.

The two questions now agitating the minds of the Trafton gossips were: "Who shot Dr. Bethel, if Jim Long did not?" and "Where did Jim Long, who had always been considered but one remove from a pauper, get the money to pay so heavy a bail?"

The theories in regard to these two questions were as various as the persons who advocated them, and were as astounding and absurd as the most diligent sensation-hunter could have desired.

Jim's gun had been found in a field less than half a mile from Bethel's cottage, by some workmen who had been sent by 'Squire Brookhouse to repair one of his farm fences, and I learned, with peculiar interest, that Tom Briggs was one of these workmen.

Upon hearing that the gun had been found, Dimber Joe had made his statement. He had seen Jim Long, between the hours of nine and ten p. m., going in the direction of the cottage, with a gun upon his shoulder.

Of course, when making this assertion, he had no idea of the use to which it would be put; and equally, of course, he much regretted that he had mentioned the fact when he found himself likely to be used as a witness against Long, whom he declared to be an inoffensive fellow, so far as he had known him, and toward whom he could have no ill-will.

In due time, sooner, in fact, than I had dared hope, there came a message from Carnes.

It came through the hands of young Harris. Carnes, having sent it early in the day, and knowing into whose hands it would probably fall, had used our cipher alphabet:

4. F d, t, t, o w n—u h e—n a x——, —, —. C——.

This is the cipher which, using the figure at the head as the key, will easily be interpreted:

Found. What next? Carnes.

Found! That meant much. It meant that the end of the Groveland mystery was near at hand!

But there was much to learn before we could decide and reply to the query, "What next?"

While Harris was absent for a few moments, during the afternoon, the night operator sent the following to Carnes:

Where found? In what condition? What do you advise?

Before midnight, this answer came:

In a fourth-rate theater. One well, the other sick. Their friends had better come for them at once. Can you get your hands on Johnny La Porte?

To this I promptly replied:

Telegraph particulars to the Agency. We can get La Porte, but must not alarm the others too soon. State what you want with him. Wyman will come to you, if needed.

This message dispatched, I dictated another to my Chief.

Let Wyman act with Carnes. Can not quit this case at present. Carnes will wire you particulars.

This being sent, I went back to my hotel and waited.

The next day the night operator offered to relieve Harris, an offer which was gladly accepted.

A little before noon the following message came:

Instructions received. Wyman, Ewing, Rutger, and La Porte start for New Orleans to-morrow. Do you need any help?

I heaved a sigh of relief and gratification, and sped back the answer, "No."