All these things had flashed through Darrell’s mind with a rapidity that lightning alone could equal, for there is nothing more rapid than thought.

He maintained his suave manner.

“I have come this morning, Mrs. Leslie, for several things. In the first place I wish to congratulate you on the fact that Joe’s terrible secret, as I made it out, was after all so simple a thing. Your wifely trust and devotion had their reward and I can appreciate the feeling of satisfaction you now possess because of your trust which I could not wholly beat down, in spite of the proofs I brought, and which must have appeared ‘strong as holy writ’.”

This was artful of Eric—he thought to destroy the barrier by a little flattery, knowing all the while that Lillian had really been jealous.

It told too.The fair lady smiled upon him once more.

“I am happy because our bugaboo turned out to be only a pipe, and Joe has gone off this morning with a cigar—he shall smoke when he pleases after this.”

“And you?”

“I find that the odor from a good cigar is rather attractive. At any rate, Joe has done so much for me that I can afford to give in to one little vice of his. To think of the poor dear fellow hiding himself away like that. It makes me almost cry to think how miserably cruel I have been to him. But I mean to make it up to Joe in the future, Mr. Darrell.”

Eric swallowed a lump that seemed to be sticking in his throat.

This, the woman whom he suspected of being false to her husband—he did not know how it was, but whenever he came into her presence he seemed to be in some way charmed.

She was a siren.

The same power, exercised by the nymphs of the sea in olden days, causing the sailors to jump over to their death, is given to certain of the gentler sex to-day.

Adam sunk all his manhood and forgot his duty to his Maker when tempted by Eve, and from that day to this few men there are strong enough to do the right when a beautiful woman smiles upon them and teaches them the lesson of love.

It would be impossible to describe the influence Lillian had upon nearly all who came in contact with her—her manner was soothing and pleasant, so that general admiration followed her acquaintance.

Darrell was a man of strong purposes and he put down with a firm hand any feeling that interfered with his stern sense of duty.

In a business way he was here to see whether Lillian was what she appeared to be, or deceptive by nature.

Hence he was not to be charmed from his purpose in any way.

The human feeling of admiration must give way to the professional energy.

“You spoke of several reasons for calling to see me, Mr. Darrell—will you kindly state what the others are?” she asked.

“With pleasure, and I trust you will not feel offended, my dear Mrs. Leslie. It is a custom on my part in a case like this, to take from the party with whom I have been engaged, a little note, stating that they have been well satisfied with my services. I hope you may not think it out of the way and give me this.”

She appeared troubled.

“I do not know that I ought to—such an affair is essentially private.”

“I only desire the paper for my own satisfaction, and not to show. You can merely state that you are entirely satisfied with the services of Eric Darrell, and if you prefer, simply sign your initials.”

Crafty man—the initial was what he wanted above all else.

Her face brightened.

“I do not know that I would object to that, Mr. Darrell, since my identity is concealed. Do you want it now?”

“If you please,” humbly, but secretly exulting over his success.

She went to the desk, opened it and sat down—after a minute’s thought she wrote something upon a sheet of paper.

“Will that do, Mr. Darrell?” handing it to him.

He glanced at it and read:

“This is to certify that Mr. Eric Darrell has accomplished the work for which I have employed him, in a thoroughly satisfactory manner, and that I am well satisfied with his services.

L. L.

“New York, October 7, 188–”

Darrell smiled.

“A thousand thanks, madam.”

“It answers your purpose?” quietly.

“Yes, yes.”

Although he smiled Eric Darrell felt as though he could have wept just then.

The one glance he had taken had revealed the fact that the capital L made by Mrs. Leslie was very similar to the one which he had seen signed to the note Paul Prescott had let fall.

It was a shock to the detective, even though he had in a measure expected it.

That point gained he put the matter aside for the present and continued to appear pleasant, though it was only with an effort he could do so.

For a little he chatted with the lady, and endeavored to study her.

Darrell thought that if his suspicions were proven true, Lillian Leslie must be the perfection of an actress—he had never seen two such extremes meet in an individual—she was the incarnation of good and evil.

“By the way, are you acquainted with a Mrs. Collingwood of your street here?” he asked after a while, in a careless tone.

“Yes, I know her.”

She looked surprised, as though wondering where he could have met her.

“Last night I made her acquaintance. She is accounted a rather handsome woman, I believe.”

This was put out as a sort of feeler, for he had not even seen her face.

Lillian answered in a manner that declared what little interest she had in the lady:

“I believe so, but we were never friends, and I do not know much about the lady.”

That ended it.

Darrell soon took his leave, having gained the point for which he had come.

When he entered a car on the elevated road he found a corner to himself, and then, unable to wait longer, proceeded to compare the two notes.

Just as he thought, the writing was of the same order, and there was much resemblance in the capital letters.Still, Eric had seen enough to know that only an expert could decide this question beyond all cavil.

Before now he had seen the chirography of two persons resemble each other, and this was not to be accepted as conclusive evidence.

At the same time it was a point that would bear upon the final result.

He kept it in mind.

Other threads must now be taken up in turn, until the main current was reached which would sweep him on to the sea.

He put away the document just received from Mrs. Leslie.

While still looking at the other, some one sat down beside him.

Darrell’s thoughts were fixed upon the subject which occupied his attention, and he did not even know there was some one in the next seat until a hand clutched his arm.

“Where did you get that paper?” said a hoarse voice close by his ear.

Turning his head at this he was surprised to see Paul Prescott beside him.

Fortune plays some queer tricks at times, and this was one of them.What an odd chance that this man, of all in the great city, should sit down in the same car, at the very moment Darrell had that fatal paper in his hand.

The circumstances were indeed so singular that Eric could not but start; but his excellent control over his nerves stood him in good stead again.

He looked in the artist’s face—it was flushed and eager and angry—evidently he had not missed the letter up to now.

“My dear sir, does it belong to you?” asked the detective, quietly.

“It does, sir.”

“Then take your property.”

“Very good, sir; but I have a right to ask, yes, demand of you, to explain under what peculiar circumstances this document chanced to come into your possession.”

“I do not question your right to ask that, and I shall readily tell where and when I picked the letter up.”

So he gave the time and place to a dot, but did not say anything about having seen it drop from the pocket of the owner. Prescott remembered that this was when and where he had received the message, and he had no doubt of the truth of the story.

At the same time he looked at the man by his side with a frown.

“You read this?” he asked.

“Naturally so—you could not blame me.”

“And had your curiosity aroused?”

“Well, yes, but that has nothing to do with it. Let us forget the circumstance.”

“Willingly, since it concerns the private affairs of a very dear friend.”

No more was said.

Eric read his paper and the artist seemed occupied with his, but every now and then he turned his eyes toward the detective as though his curiosity was aroused.

When the artist arose at Fourteenth Street, to leave the car, Eric handed him a card he had prepared for such occasions.

It gave his name and the address of his apartments—nothing more.

“If you should ever desire to see me, sir, you will find me there by letter or person,” he said quietly.

At this Prescott smiled broadly.

“I hope you don’t think I dream of sending you a challenge for finding my letter,” he said.

“Well, you looked as black as a thunder cloud, and I didn’t know but what you might be meditating something of the sort.”

“It was rude in me to act that way, and I beg your pardon for it.”

Frankly said.

The detective liked him better for it, and there was something about the other’s face quite attractive after all.

Somehow Eric did not seem to hate and despise him as he had done before.

When the artist had gone he fell into a fit of musing again.

Various theories were built up, only to be discarded again as unequal to the occasion.

He remembered that the letter had been given to Prescott by a woman, who was evidently in the pay of the party signed L.

Whom could Lillian send?

He did not know the internal arrangements of the lovely little house up town, and this was what was now on his mind.

The office of Joe Leslie was his destination, and he made his way thither after leaving the elevated road.Leslie was in John Street, and carried on a business in precious stones, of which he was one of the best judges in the city.

He was a man of considerable wealth, but being of an unostentatious nature he did not put on much style, preferring to live quietly and well.

When Eric Darrell ascended the stairs of the large building in which his friend had his offices, he was forcibly reminded of times gone by when Joe was a bachelor, and the two had been warm friends, passing through numerous scenes of pleasure in company.