JACK'S FORESIGHT—A SECOND VISIT TO OLD BERWICK—THE PORTRAIT—OTHER SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERIES—"ALAS! THE LETTER!"—A STREET CAR INCIDENT—"I WILL FIND THAT LETTER."

"I will succeed; I have not made this remarkable progress and come upon these strange discoveries all for nothing."

"Jacob Canfield is dead?"

"Yes."

"The granddaughter if living would now be forty-five years of age."

"Yes, but still a comparatively young woman."

"She may be a humble woman with a family."

"Yes, but if I had a photograph I'd soon find her if living. It is now my duty to find this granddaughter. She was once a Miss Canfield; my 'shadow' is diverted to a solution of the whereabouts of the living. The mystery of the dead is solved."

"Yes, but here again you start without a clue."

"Not exactly; I know the name of the one I seek; and now, sir, you will not see me again until late to-morrow night, and by that time I may have something to impart."

"One more question, Mr. Wonderful Man: Where did Jacob Canfield get this fortune?"

"That is a mystery; the letter no doubt would have made that plain. One fact we can assume: he came by it honestly, for his record is that of an honest man, and again, all the drafts were paid without question. He told you to sell them; he did not attempt to hide his ownership of them. Yes, the money was his honestly to bestow, or he may have held it in trust for some one else. It may be that the letter would have revealed the latter fact, and it is here we may be at fault at the last. It may not have been his granddaughter, but some other person's child for whom he held the money. There is a great deal of mystery surrounding the case yet, but I doubt not that in time we will solve it. I will have something important to relate, no doubt, when I see you to-morrow night or the night following."

"No doubt, for you have come back with marvels to relate every time."

On the morning following his interview with Mr. Townsend, the detective again appeared at the tavern where he had met old Berwick, and he again met the voluble old gentleman. Berwick recognized our hero and said:

"Hello, you here again?"

"Yes, I am here again."

"I suppose you have some more questions to ask concerning Jake Canfield."

"Mr. Berwick, can I trust you?"

"You can as sure as my name is Berwick."

"You asked me if I had any special interest in Jake Canfield."

"I did, and you tried to throw me off, but you did not. I knew all the time that you did have an interest in him."

"Well, I have, in his history and also in his granddaughter, if she is alive."

"Well, now, see here; after you went away I got to thinking. I made up my mind there was something up in this case, and I remembered that I had a photograph of the little girl—not a photo, but one of those old-fashioned pictures they used to take before photos were invented."

"And have you that picture now?"

"I have, as sure as guns."

"Where?"

"Up at my house; I was looking at it this very day."

"Can I see it?"

"Yes, come along over to my house; you shall see it, sure. But tell me, is the girl living?"

"On my honor, I do not know; I want to find out and discover her if possible."

"I see, you are a detective."

"Possibly I am, but don't mention the fact."

"You can just bet I won't; but tell me all about it."

"You said it was rumored that Jake had a deposit in New York which he concealed from his second-hand family?"

"It was so said; I don't know if it was true or not."

"It was true."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and the granddaughter is the heiress. You see this money has been at interest and it is quite a sum now—yes, quite a good sum. We want to find her or her heirs in case she is dead."

"I'll lend a hand—yes, I will, for all I am worth."

Old Berwick led the way to his home and produced an old-fashioned daguerreotype, the picture of a little girl not over five or six years of age. The picture was well preserved, and the features were well defined.

The detective examined it closely, and finally asked:

"Is this really and beyond doubt a picture of the grandchild?"

"Yes."

"Her name would be Canfield?"

"Yes."

"She was a child of old Canfield's son?"

"So they said."

"So they said?"

"Yes."

"But wasn't she?"

"Well, I can't say she was or she was not. Old Jake always said it was his granddaughter, but he was the only one who knew anything about it. No one else knew that his son left a child; possibly they didn't inquire into it. I wouldn't have thought of it now myself only I was talking it over with my old woman, and she said that young Jake Canfield never had a child. I remembered then that the old woman had always said so."

As stated, the detective had been studying the picture, and on the case in very small letters he saw printed with a pen and in ink the name Amalie Stevens. He required his powerful magnifying glass to read it, but under the glass he made it out. He trembled at the marvelous new lights that were flashing in on the dark mystery. Here was a chance for a new theory; a door was opened to account for the possession of the great fortune in possession of a humble fisherman, and here again was a partial suggestion as to the secrecy and the twenty-year clause in the trust, and Jack muttered:

"Oh, that the banker had not lost that letter—how plain everything would be now! Still we are on the right road, and no doubt after all that has been revealed I will eventually arrive at a full solution and clearing up of the whole matter."

Jack made some very close inquiries and learned particulars that convinced him that he was on the true road, but it was a difficult path that lay before him, and only a man of his wonderful energy and hopefulness would have dared to anticipate absolute success.

The detective returned to the city, and at the hour named once again met Mr. Townsend, and as usual the banker asked:

"Well, Mr. Wonderful, what now?"

"It is wonderful, Mr. Townsend, the strange facts I have secured; but first see here."

The detective passed the picture over to the banker.

"What is this?"

"A portrait of the heiress at the age of five or six."

"Well, well, you are closing down on facts."

"I am, but to me it is 'yet so near and still so far.' Here is the picture, but the original was but five or six when that was taken and she is now a woman of over forty. She cannot be shadowed on a resemblance."

"But you have a clue."

"Yes, I have a clue, but a very thin and unsatisfactory one."

"You are not getting discouraged?"

"I never get discouraged, but I do wish we had that letter."

"You cannot possibly wish it more than I do."

"You are absolutely certain that it is lost? You do not hold back a surprise for me?"

"I do not; I sincerely wish that I did."

"I will tell you something: that girl was not the granddaughter of the old fisherman Canfield. I do not believe she was a relative at all, and do you observe the suggestion?"

"I do not."

"It is plain."

"It is?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"If the girl was not his granddaughter Canfield only held the money in trust—yes, held it for a helpless orphan—and being a peculiar old man he was making sure that the fortune confided to him was properly invested and held until such time as the heiress was capable of taking care of it herself."

"Then this explains the mystery?"

"It does."

"And the letter would open up everything?"

"It would."

"And fire has consumed the letter; but matters are simplified."

"They are?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"All we have to do is find the reputed granddaughter of old Canfield."

"Easier said than done."

"But we have a clue now."

"We have?"

"Certainly."

"You are becoming quite a detective."

"I am."

"What is your clue?"

"The girl is probably living under the name of Canfield."

"That is possible."

"You say the name is Amalie Stevens?"

"I believe that to be the real name of the heiress to the fortune you hold."

"Then you are doubly armed."

"In that particular, yes."

"Remember what I have told you."

"Repeat, please."

"A fortune awaits you as well as the girl."

"I would solve this mystery if I could, without the prospect of receiving one cent."

"I believe that, but it is as well to know that you will be well paid."

"All right, sir, to-morrow I commence the search for the missing child, now a woman between forty and fifty."

The detective went forth, and we can here state that he with his brother spent three whole weeks searching for the missing woman, and in all that time, as Jack afterward stated, he believed he had looked on the face of almost every woman in New York, and during this strange "shadow" he encountered many very strange and remarkable experiences. He met nothing, however, that he could call a reward. He did meet many women who in a certain way possessed characteristics of feature that might have distinguished the heiress developed from a child into a woman. He visited the theaters, variety shows; he advertised for relatives of Jacob Canfield, and expected to receive answers from descendants of the old fisherman's second-hand family, if from no one else. He did receive many bogus replies, but nothing was really worth a second thought. At the end of the three weeks he did feel a little discouraged, but showed no disposition to surrender the search. He, however, became very thoughtful, and kept repeating:

"Hang it! if I only had that letter."

At last there came to him one day a singular suggestion. He was riding in a street car, and two old men met, and during the course of conversation one of them made a remark, saying:

"Well, I tell you it's sad how one will lose their memory in directions. My memory is as strong as ever it was, and then again it plays very strange pranks—yes, very strange pranks. Do you know I will do things and then forget that I did? For instance, I will deposit a letter in a U.S. box and ten minutes afterward forget all about it."

"I have the same weakness," said the other old man; "indeed, in that direction I am bothered very frequently."

These remarks started a line of thought in our hero's mind. He remembered asking Mr. Townsend if he had ever removed the letter that had been intrusted to him from his office. Mr. Townsend had replied that he was certain he never had. Our hero recalled that he had accepted the banker's word but had never tested it, and he exclaimed:

"By ginger! here is where I have been remiss."

Our hero proceeded to Mr. Townsend's home, and after a little talk said:

"You once told me you were certain you never removed that letter from your office."

"I am certain that I never did—yes, I repeat the declaration."

"You are mistaken."

The old banker started and exclaimed in a tone of surprise:

"I am mistaken?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you have found the letter?"

"No, but I will find it."

"You will?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Here in your house."

"Never."

"You are positive?"

"I cannot think it possible that I removed the letter. I once thought it possible and made a search."

"Oh, you once thought it possible?"

"Yes."

"And made a search?"

"Yes."

"And you failed to find it?"

"I did not find it.'"

"Where did you look?"

"In my private safe."

"You wish to find the letter?"

"I do."

"Then you will not object to my making a search?"

"Certainly not; I will oppose no effort to find the letter."

"Then I will make the search," said our hero.