ON A NEW "LAY"—DOWN IN MONMOUTH COUNTY—AN APPARENT DEFEAT—A SINGULAR CLUE—TWO COINCIDENT DATES—OLD BERWICK—STRIKING SUGGESTIONS—ONCE AGAIN A CHANCE.

After what had occurred Mr. Townsend was prepared for anything. He had regained his self-possession. He was a brave, nervy old gentleman; his bravery was like that which always attends honesty.

"Please do not keep me in suspense."

"I have said those are the clothes worn by the strange man who visited you forty years ago?"

"Yes."

"And you have not seen or heard from him since?"

"I have not."

"It is not strange."

"You can explain why?"

"I can."

"Within three hours after his visit to you he was a dead man."

"A dead man?"

"Yes."

"Did he commit suicide?"

"It is possible he did, not probable."

"Explain."

Our hero proceeded and told all the thrilling incidents of his phenomenal "shadow," and proceeding said:

"I have proved the identity of the man now beyond all question."

"You have; but what was his name?"

"That I have not learned; I will in time; but I have learned one fact: he came from Monmouth County, New Jersey. That is what he was trying to say when his heart ceased its throbbings. It is not strange that Mr. Douglas thought he was striving to say Mon Dieu; I know he was striving to tell where he resided, and death stealing rapidly over him would not permit the completion of the sentence."

"I see I employed the right man."

"I trust so."

"I am confident the mystery will be solved."

"Yes, the mystery will certainly be solved. It may take a long time, but now I have something to work on."

"Yes, and you started without a single clue."

"I did."

Mr. Townsend meditated a few moments and then said:

"It is evident to me that you will succeed in solving this mystery; and now let me tell you, your reward shall be the largest a detective ever received. I will pay the reward out of my own pocket as an atonement for my negligence."

The detective held a long consultation with Mr. Townsend and then returned to his home, and there after his brother had removed the dead man's clothes Jack commenced a thorough search of the clothing, despite the fact that several people had done so before him. He went to work in a scientific manner and spent hours over the investigation, and when he had finished he said:

"I am not altogether satisfied, and yet it does appear as though the old man had nothing on his person at the time he was killed, or some one went through his clothing and secured whatever might have been in them, and if that is so those papers are in existence somewhere. The thief must have them, and some day I will find that man or his heirs. I have succeeded thus far, I will succeed to the end."

Jack had made up his mind that the old man had visited New York from Monmouth County, and he adopted a very cunningly devised scheme. On the day following the incidents we have related Jack made his brother up in the dead man's clothes and took a photograph. He constructed his dummy according to the various descriptions he had received, and having the man's clothes, and by other ingenious arrangements, he secured a very remarkable reproduction, and remarked:

"I believe if I can meet any living man who knew the depositor of the fortune, I shall gain a living clue."

Taking his photograph with him our hero went down to Monmouth County, New Jersey. Jack spent six days and made about as thorough a "shadow" as man could make, but met with no success whatever; he failed in securing the slightest clue. He showed the portrait he had to many old men, but none of them could recall ever having seen the original, and one night the detective sat in his room at a little tavern where he was lodging, and he felt quite depressed. He had made such a good start, he had calculated to go right ahead and secure all the facts, and here he had spent five days, working away into the night—indeed, he had devoted eighteen hours out of the twenty-four—and had been completely baffled. It was still comparatively early in the evening when he went down into the barroom, and he was sitting there watching a game of high, low, jack being played by some old fishermen. It was a pretty rough sort of night. The wind howled without and made the shutters and casements of the old building rattle, and finally an old man who was sitting there remarked:

"It's a pretty rough sort of night; I hope all the boys who were on the water got in safe before this southeaster came sweeping over the waters."

"Oh, yes, I reckon all the fishermen got in all right."

The place where our hero was located at the time was a little fishing village on the coast, and another man remarked:

"It ain't often the boys are caught in a gale like this; they know what's coming pretty well."

"Yes, yes, as a rule, but sometimes a mishap will overtake a man when there is neither wind nor high seas. I often cogitate over what accident must have befallen Jacob Canfield. He left the shore one morning when it was as mild and fair as the brightest June day that ever dawned, and it was pleasant and calm all day. The sun went down as serenely as it rose, and not a ripple was on the sea—yes, it was a mild, lovely October day, from sunrise to sunset. Jake was seen to go out in his boat, but neither Jake nor the boat was ever seen afterward. I tell you I've never made up my mind as to what happened him."

"I've heard about that," said one of the men; "it happened a long time ago."

"Yes, it happened forty years ago. I don't just remember the date when he disappeared, but it was somewhere in the middle of October, and as I said, as fair and mild a day as though it were the middle of June, but Jake was never seen alive afterward."

Jack was all ears and attention. Here were two suggestive incidents: a man named Jake Canfield had disappeared forty years previously on a beautiful October day and had never been seen since, and it was in October when an unknown man from Monmouth County was killed on the railroad. Jack made no demonstration; he was perfectly cool, but when an opportunity presented he made some inquiries about the old man who had told of the mysterious disappearance of Jake Canfield. He learned that the old man's name was Berwick, that he had been born a few miles away on a farm in the interior. He had been a fisherman all his life and knew about every one that lived in the vicinity, or who had lived around there during fifty years.

Jack betrayed no outward excitement, but inwardly he was greatly excited. The incidents did not agree altogether, but the detective had only heard the outlines of the tragedy. He believed he might mold the facts down so as to fit the proofs he was seeking. He learned that old Berwick lived only a few hundred yards away from the tavern, and was a pretty smart old man, also well-to-do, and also that he spent most of his time at the tavern, being too old to perform any sort of labor.

It did appear to our hero that at last his patient and careful investigation was about to be rewarded. He did not speak to the old man that night concerning the tragedy or the mystery of Jake Canfield's disappearance, but he made the old man's acquaintance and engaged him in conversation on several subjects, treated him to several glasses of hot punch, and indeed became quite well acquainted with the old fisherman. Jack did not wish in any way to convey the idea that he had any interest in Jake Canfield, but when he returned to his little room and lay down that night he lay awake a long time, his brain busy in turning over the many possibilities. Two facts were assured, and these two facts were very suggestive. Old Canfield had disappeared forty years previously; he had gone away one bright October day; he had lived in Monmouth County, and had never been seen since the day he went away on the waters off shore—that is, so the statements of Berwick indicated.

On the following morning our hero was out bright and early. He knew the habits of country people pretty well, and in the case in point his conclusions were justified. He saw old Berwick going down toward the beach. Jack followed the old man and joined him on the great spread of sand.

"Good-morning," said Jack.

"Good-morning," came the response, and then as the old man glanced up there came a smile to his face, and he said:

"Why, let me see, ain't you the chap I met up at the tavern last night?"

"I'm the man."

"Well, you must excuse me; you see, my sight is not as good as it was forty years ago. I'm right glad to see you, but I say, you are out early. I reckon you're a city chap, and city people, as a rule, don't often see the sun rise."

"I am an early riser."

"Is that so? Well, I am out a little earlier than usual myself this morning, for I love to come down to the beach and catch the early morning breeze off the ocean; and to tell the truth, I felt a little rusty after that hot punch I drank last night. I ain't much of a drinker, but once in awhile I like a little hot stuff on a chilly night. No, I ain't much of a drinker; when I was a young man I did not touch it at all, and maybe that's how I've lived to such a great age—yes, I am eighty-two years old, and I feel pretty brisk considering that I've led a hard-working life."

"You are a wonderfully well-preserved old man. I should not have taken you to be over seventy."

"Well, I am—yes, I am eighty-two just, and I feel pretty hearty yet."

"You've lived around here all your life?"

"Yes, I have."

"You remember a great many wrecks on this coast?"

"Do I? well, sir, my memory is just stored with sad scenes that I've witnessed."

"You were speaking last night about a man named Jake Canfield."

"Yes, I was; Jake was a fine man, but he had hard luck—yes, he did."

"I was quite interested in that story you told about him."

"I didn't tell no great story; I merely told how he had gone out in his boat, and how neither he nor his boat was ever seen again."

"You said you did not believe he was dead."

"Well, I never did believe he was drowned. Of course he is dead now, for he was twenty years older than me, but he had hard luck."

"Things went against him?"

"Not in one way; Jake was a very successful man as a fisherman, and he had money in the bank when he died, but he was very unlucky for all that."

"Will you tell me how he was unlucky?"

"You appear to be interested."

"I am."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"Well, I've nothing else to do, and it's very monotonous down here, and I am interested in old sea stories."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"I could tell you hundreds of them."

"I am going to get you to do so, but first tell me all about old Jake Canfield."