A MOST WONDERFUL "SHADOW"—GOING OVER A RAILROAD DIARY—AN INCIDENT THAT WAS SUGGESTIVE—A MARVELOUS DISCOVERY—THE OLD TRUNK—ON THE TRACK OF A GENUINE CLUE.

Our readers may think it strange that the detective should go out of his way to listen to an old man's tales of a railroad, but Jack had become possessed of an idea. His idea may have been "far-fetched," as they say, but he believed he was building on a good logical basis; at any rate he was sufficiently prepossessed in favor of his theory to determine to make a fair test, and little did he dream how straight to the mark he was going. He resolved, however, to go ahead without knowing.

On the day following, at the time named, Jack appeared at the old man's house, and found Mr. Douglas glad to welcome him. The ten dollars and a prospect of more money made the man with the diary quite solicitous to furnish all the information he could.

"Let me see," said Jack, "when did you start the diary?"

"The very day I was first employed on the road."

"And you have kept it faithfully?"

"Yes, I have recorded every incident of importance as it occurred, even to the names of every conductor and official of the road."

We will not relate in detail Jack's patient following up of all the incidents in the diary, but he spent three hours in studying every incident until he came to the record of an accident where a man had stepped out upon the platform, had lost his balance, and had been hurled to the ground and killed, and in this incident there appeared a note stating as follows:

When Jack read the account of this accident there came a strange glitter in his eyes, and also a look of gratification to his face. It was but a trifling incident, and there were hundreds of accidents on record, but here was a milepost for our hero—yes, a clue, as he really believed.

"That was a strange accident," he said.

"Yes, a very sad accident. Nothing strange about it, but very sad. The old man's body was never claimed; I remember the incident well."

"But tell me, when did it happen?"

"October 19, 18—; yes, I remember well, it was early in the afternoon. The man fell from my car; I was first at his side. I heard him utter the word mon, and that is all he did say. He attempted to speak, and there was a wild, eager look upon his face, but he soon became unconscious and died without uttering another word except the French word mon."

"Possibly he meant to exclaim 'Mon Dieu'," suggested Jack.

"Yes, I guess that was it. Let me see, that means 'My God.' I did not think of that—yes, 'My God' is what he attempted to say in French."

"And you remember all about the incident clearly?"

"Yes, I do."

"The man probably came from New York," suggested Jack.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because he had black mud on his boots."

"Well, he didn't; the man was a Jersey man."

"How do you know?"

"He had Jersey red mud on his shoes."

"Oh, he wore shoes?"

"No, he did not, he wore boots. Let me see, yes, he wore boots. He was probably a farm hand, a friendless fellow. That is the reason his body was never claimed."

"He wore a high beaver hat. A farm hand would not be apt to wear a high beaver hat."

"What do you know about it?" demanded Mr. Douglas.

"Nothing; I am only guessing."

"Well, you are guessing wrong. He wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat."

"He did?"

"Yes."

"You are sure?"

"I can see him as plainly as though my eyes were fixed on his dying face at this moment."

"And he had clear black eyes—regular French eyes."

"Well, it's strange how you talk, Mr. Newspaper Man; you're not good at guessing. His eyes were not black; I will never forget the color of his eyes; they were fixed on me with a look of agony while he tried to speak. They were a clear blue—yes, sir, as blue as the midday sky."

Our readers can imagine the exultation of the detective as he elicited the description we have recorded, and indeed he had reason to exult, for he had secured a clue in the most remarkable manner. His keenness had been marvelous; his success was equally wonderful; but he had after all only secured a starter. But there was a revelation to come that caused him to stop and consider whether or not any credit really was due him, and whether it was not a strange Providence which had after forty years guided him to the startling starting point for the following up of a great clue.

The old man's suspicions had at last been aroused. He glanced at the detective in a suspicious manner, and said:

"See here, young man, I am not a fool; no, sir, neither am I blind—I mean intellectually blind."

"You are a very bright and remarkable old gentleman."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"You mean it?"

"I do."

"Then please tell me what you are driving at. You appear particularly interested in the death of this old Frenchman, that occurred over forty years ago."

"What makes you think I am interested?"

"Oh, I can see; you have asked me very strange questions. You have done more; you have questioned me in such a manner as to quicken my memory—yes, you have brought vividly before my mind all that occurred on that day when that Frenchman was killed."

"Mr. Douglas, you are easily misled."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"No, I am not."

"Oh, yes."

"You are seeking to mislead me now, but you can't. You are not a newspaper man, no, sir."

"I am not?"

"No."

"What am I?"

"Shall I tell you?"

There came an amused smile to our hero's face, and he appreciated more keenly what a bright old gentleman he was dealing with, and this fact made the man's testimony the more valuable. Our hero said in answer to Mr. Douglas' question:

"Yes."

"You are a detective; you are not interested in my diary beyond the facts connected with that poor old Frenchman, I can see."

"Possibly you only imagine it."

"No, sir; and let me tell you, if you are a detective, and if you are interested in the identity of that old Frenchman, tell me the truth, and I may give you a great surprise."

Jack meditated a moment and concluded that there really was no good reason against his letting the old man know that he was a detective, as at the same time he could ward off all inquiries as to his purpose.

"You think I am a detective?"

"Yes, I do."

Jack laughed; he did not intend to surrender his secret too fast.

"Maybe you are mistaken."

"It may be I am, but mark my words: I will withhold my surprise unless I learn the actual truth."

"Suppose I were to confess that I am a detective."

"So much the better for you."

"But you might give me away."

"Never; I am not a woman."

"You are a very shrewd old gentleman."

"I am no fool."

"I am a detective."

"So I thought, and now one word more: why are you seeking facts about a man who died forty years ago?"

"I desire to establish the fact of his death."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, at present."

"I see, it is a will case?"

"No, on my honor, no."

"There is money in it somehow."

"What makes you think so?"

"The fact that a detective is taking the matter up after the lapse of forty years."

"Suppose there is money in it?"

"That's all right; I am not seeking a money reward, but I want to know what I am about. I am a pretty old man, and sometimes there is great devilment going on in will cases. I do not want to aid the wrong side; I'll do all I can to aid the right side."

"There is no will case."

"On your honor?"

"Yes."

"Then, why do you seek to establish the facts of the accident?"

"In order to confirm certain other facts, that's all."

"Have you made up your mind that the man who was killed is the individual you seek?"

"Not positively."

"I told you I had a great surprise for you."

"Yes."

"Well, I have."

"I like to be surprised."

"No doubt, but you can't guess what I've got for you."

"Oh, yes, I can."

"You can?"

"Yes."

There had come to our hero a most strange, weird and startling suggestion.

"You can guess?"

"Yes."

"Then you must be a Yankee."

"No, I am not."

"And you can guess?"

"Yes."

"Will you bet on it?"

"Yes, and give odds."

"You will?"

"I will."

"We won't bet, but you would lose; tell me the surprise."

As stated, there had come a very startling suggestion to the detective's mind. He looked very wise, and said:

"If I were to anticipate you, then I'd spoil the surprise."

"No, you would not; but it would be me who would receive the surprise."

"Very well, I'll tell you, Mr. Douglas, you have the clothes the old man wore on the day he was killed."

"I'll swear I have not told you so."

"No, you did not tell me so, but you admit it now."

"Yes, I admit that I have the clothes; that was the surprise I intended for you, and it is wonderful that you should suspect."

"I am pretty good at suspecting."

"I see you are. But hold on; it was forty years ago. I think I have the clothes; I cannot be positive, but since you have been talking to me I remember I received the clothes from the coroner a long time after the old Frenchman's death. I secured them to hold for identification."

"And it was a very wise precaution."

"It was beyond doubt, as matters have turned out; but remember, I am not positive that I have them. I believe I have, but sometimes my good old wife has a general cleaning out and may have disposed of them; but I will find out."

"When can you ascertain?"

"Oh, in a little while; come, we will go up in the attic. I remember putting them in an old trunk, and if I have them they are in that trunk still."

"Your wife may remember."

"No, her memory is failing; she would not remember anything about it, but we can very soon learn."

The detective had made the last suggestion in his eagerness to make sure that the clothes were not lost.

The old man led the way up to his attic, and our athletic hero lifted a number of old boxes, and finally came to a trunk, old and green with mold, and the old man said:

"That's it—yes, that is the box. Haul it down and we will soon learn, but I will swear that they are there, for that box has not been disturbed, as you can see, for many years."

The detective stood a moment wiping the perspiration from his face, for it was hot up in that attic, and he was excited. After a moment, however, he hauled down the box and watched the old man as the latter proceeded to open it.