THE SECRET OF THE OLD BOX—A GHASTLY FIND—WONDERFUL CONFIRMATIONS—STILL MORE WONDERFUL DETECTIVE WORK—A NOVEL SURPRISE—THE DEAD ALIVE—AN ABSOLUTE IDENTIFICATION.

"Great Scott!" cried the old man, as the lid of the box flew off and disclosed a package of old clothes—yes, old apparel including hat and boots.

"Here they are," he said; "I don't swear, but darn it, if this isn't wonderful—yes, it's a surprise after all."

"It is the hand of fate," said the detective, in a solemn tone.

"It's fate or some other darn mysterious thing; but here are the clothes—the very clothes the old man wore the day he was killed."

The clothes were taken from the case and thoroughly examined, but the vigilant detective made a discovery which led him to say:

"They are not blood-stained."

"No."

"Is there a mistake?"

"No, sir, no mistake. See, there are the big boots, the broad-brimmed slouch hat; I'll swear to the clothes."

"But how is it they are not blood-stained?"

"Oh, that is easily explained. The old man struck on his head; it was concussion of the brain that killed him. The exterior wound was only a scalp wound. There was no blood on his clothes, as the wound was on the head only. No, sir, there is no mistake; those are the clothes the old man wore on the day he was killed, October 19, 18—."

It was a ghastly exhibition under all the circumstances, and the explanation concerning the blood-stains was very satisfactory and reasonable, and besides, the clothes answered the description of both of the old men who had seen their living owner over forty years previously on the very day he died, for our hero concluded that the man had been killed on the very day he had deposited the great fortune with the banker. It was a strange and remarkable find after so many years, and it made the detective very thoughtful.

"Can I examine the clothes?" he asked.

"Certainly; and prove that you are an honest man and you can have them to solve any mystery that you may be investigating."

"I am investigating a mystery."

"Will you tell me what it is?"

"I am seeking to solve the dead man's identity."

"You will not find anything in his clothes to aid you."

"I will not?"

"No."

"How is that?"

"Oh, a dozen men went through those clothes, and lastly I did. There was not a paper or sign of identification of any kind."

"Did he not have any money?"

"No; but let me see, there was an old pocketbook, I remember—I do not know what became of it—but nothing else. He must have paid his last dime for his car fare."

"But his railroad ticket? What became of that? Surely that would have indicated his destination?"

"That was the strange part of it; he must have been stealing a ride. No railroad ticket was found on his person. We searched for that. Possibly he was a tramp, or he might have been 'busted' and had determined to steal a ride, and was seeking to dodge the conductor when he fell off the train and was killed. At any rate no ticket was found. We searched for it, I remember."

Our hero knew that the old man must have had some money; there was a little side mystery in none being found on his person, but a clue had been obtained—a very startling one—and Jack was delighted with his success thus far, but he little dreamed of the many strange and conflicting incidents he was destined to be called upon to unravel.

Jack held a long talk with Mr. Douglas, only partially explaining his purpose, and finally succeeded in getting the old man to consent to loan him the clothes. Our hero had formed a very novel and startling plan to make his identification complete.

During the course of the day Jack had the clothes transferred to his own apartments, and there he gave them a thorough cleaning, and later held a long talk with his brother Gil. He determined to call upon the latter to perform a part in one of the most dramatic scenes that could be conceived.

During the afternoon Jack sent word to Mr. Townsend that he would call upon him that same evening at about eleven o'clock, adding that he had some very important facts to impart.

Exactly at the hour named the detective was on hand. The banker was expecting him, and greeted him with the complimentary salutation:

"Well, Mr. Wonderful, what have you discovered?"

"I have some very important questions to ask."

"Proceed; I will answer all your questions to the best of my ability."

"One word as a matter of precaution: sir, your heart is perfectly sound?"

"I believe so."

"You are a man of nerve?"

"I have always been so credited."

"You would not be overcome by a sudden surprise?"

"I think not."

"You are not superstitious?"

"I am not."

"And generally a man of courage?"

"I believe so, but I cannot discern what these singular questions mean."

"You will understand later on, for I have some startling disclosures to make."

"Then you have really made a discovery?"

"It is possible that I have, but I have not yet had a chance to fully test my discoveries in order to learn if they amount to anything. With your aid I hope to do so."

"All right; you need not fear for me. I am prepared for anything that will tend to a solution of the mystery, and which will also promise an opportunity for me to make atonement."

"That is all right, sir; but tell me, was it on the 19th day of October, 18—, that the strange man visited you and deposited the wealth with you under such remarkable circumstances?"

Mr. Townsend turned very pale, but said:

"I cannot answer you immediately."

"Is there any way that will enable you to give me a certain answer?"

"Yes, sir, I can answer the question."

"To a dead certainty?"

"Yes."

"Then, sir, let me tell you that a great deal depends upon the accuracy and coincidence of dates."

"Then you really have made a discovery?"

"That is to be learned; I will be able to tell you later on. First learn if you can concerning the date when the strange man visited you."

Mr. Townsend went to a desk, drew forth a little leather-bound book, turned over its pages, and finally, with a look expressive of wonder and surprise, said:

"Yes, the deposit was made with me on the date October 19, 18—."

"There is no mistake?"

"There certainly is no mistake; but let me see, I do not remember having mentioned that date to you."

"No, sir, you did not."

"Then how did you learn? You certainly must have discovered something?"

The detective suddenly started and bent forward in a listening attitude.

"What is the matter, sir?" demanded Mr. Townsend.

"You have not kept faith with me, I fear," said Jack, in a tone of well-assumed sternness.

"I have not?"

"So it would appear."

"What do you mean?"

"There is some one in the adjoining room."

"Not to my knowledge."

"I heard a footstep."

"You only imagine so; no one would dare enter that room without my permission."

"You are sure?"

"I am."

"Just ask anyone to step forth who may be in that room."

Mr. Townsend had become very nervous; the detective's manner was so strange and peculiar.

"What do you mean, sir? I tell you there is no one in that room."

"I tell you, sir, I heard a footstep in that room."

"You only imagine so."

"I know I did."

"Very well, we will see," and Mr. Townsend called out:

"If there is any one in the next room let him come forth."

Immediately a man stepped forth—a strange, weird-looking man—in old clothes, high boots with red Jersey mud on them, and a broad-brimmed slouch hat. As the figure stepped forth Mr. Townsend leaped from his chair with a wild cry and glared with bulging eyes—glared like one fearing a figure from the grave—and indeed, to all appearances it was veritably a figure from the grave; and during this almost tragic and really dramatic and startling scene Jack Alvarez, the detective, sat cool and unperturbed, and finally remarked:

"I knew there was some one in that room, Mr. Townsend. Who is this man?"

Mr. Townsend was indeed a strong-nerved man, and after a moment he recovered from the first shock of surprise and said:

"It is the dead come to accuse me for my negligence."

"The dead come to accuse you for negligence?"

"Yes."

"I do not understand."

"Mr. Alvarez, there stands the man who can name the owner of the fortune which I have held in trust for forty years—yes, there stands the man who confided the great fortune to my keeping."

"You recognize the man?"

"I do."

"Then question him."

Mr. Townsend, in a singularly firm voice, considering the circumstances, said:

"My good friend, you must forgive me. I lost your letter, but I have held the trust sacred, and I am prepared to surrender it to you with accumulated interest; but tell me why did you wait all these years and not come and claim the money?"

In a perfectly natural voice the strange "appearance" said:

"I left a letter with you."

"It is true; I tell you I lost the letter, but now I will gladly surrender the fortune."

"Then you recognize me?"

"I do."

"Beyond all question?"

"Yes, beyond all question."

"I will not have to prove my identity?"

"You will not."

"Remember, forty years have elapsed."

"I would recognize you if a thousand years had elapsed. You appear to me to-day just as you looked forty years ago. I was a young man then; I have grown old, but you do not appear to have aged at all."

"And you are prepared to surrender the fortune?"

"I am."

"I only have to say, sir, that I can prove how easy it is for a man to be deceived."

With the above words, Gil Alvarez cast aside his disguise and stood revealed, presenting his wonderful resemblance to his twin brother.

Mr. Townsend recoiled in greater amazement than he did while under the first belief that he had been confronted by a visitant from the grave. A few seconds he gazed and then said:

"Wait."

He stepped to a sideboard, drank a glass of brandy, and then resuming his former seat, said in a perfectly cool tone:

"This is a very remarkable piece of acting, Mr. Alvarez. Who is this person?"

"My twin brother and my aid."

"And what does this all mean?"

"It is a test of identification."

"You are a wonderful man."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"In being able from memory and imagination to create such a wonderful resemblance. You have the clothes and appearance of the man who visited me counterfeited to perfection. How you could have had those clothes made is a mystery to me; I am dumfounded. No wonder you asked me if I was sound of heart; otherwise you would have killed me."

"And the counterfeit was perfect?"

"Yes."

"The identification would have been perfect?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, I have a remarkable disclosure to make."

"I cannot be more surprised than I have been. I tell you your dummy is perfect."

"Then permit me to inform you that the apparition was not all acting. Those are the clothes worn by the man on the day he visited you and deposited the fortune with you—yes, sir, the very clothes the strange man wore on that occasion."

"Then, sir, I will admit that you have a wonderful disclosure to make."

"Yes, sir, I have."