Mr. B's taunting letter was a bitter dose for Jack's pride to swallow. Jack was young and very human, and it was only natural he should have been a little puffed up by his preliminary successes in a task that might well have daunted an experienced detective. And then to discover after all that his crafty adversary had only been playing with him, that he was aware of all his movements—well, Jack ground his teeth a bit. But the effect on the whole was salutary. The letter rebuked Jack's vanity, and steeled his resolution.

"I was a fool!" he told himself. "I didn't give the old boy credit for ordinary horse sense. Well, I won't make the same mistake again. I can't do anything more in my own character, that's certain. He has a perfect line on me as Bobo's secretary. But he doesn't know anything about Pitman yet—or young Henry Cassels, the student at Barbarossa's school. I'll get him yet."

The affair of the letter resulted in the swift break-up of Mrs. Cleaver's establishment. Jack did not see her again. He instructed the bank to pay her two hundred dollars weekly. She rented her house and departed—for an extensive trip through the South, it was given out.

Miriam disappeared too. Jack hoped that his mind would now be relieved of any further anxiety concerning her designs on Bobo. She would naturally suppose Jack thought, that in the general expose her connection with Mr. B. would be made known to Bobo, and she would scarcely have the effrontery to pursue him further. But Jack underrated that young lady's hardihood, as will be seen.

As a matter of fact Jack did not feel that it was necessary to explain to Bobo the whys and wherefors of what had happened. He had no confidence in Bobo's discretion. He ascribed Mrs. Cleaver's sudden departure to her well-known capriciousness. Bobo was a bit dazed by the change in the situation, and broken-hearted at the seeming loss of Miriam.

"Why don't I hear from her!" he cried a hundred times a day. "There wasn't any trouble the last time I saw her. You know, we went to the theater together, and you and Clara had dinner at home. When we got home Clara had gone to bed with a headache, but you were there waiting for us, and the three of us had a rabbit together, all as jolly as possible."

"The next day when I went back to lunch the whole house was upset. Miriam had gone out they said, and Clara wouldn't see me. The butler said she was packing. I hung around a couple of hours, and nobody so much as offered me a bite. At last I had to go away to get something to eat. When I got back Miriam had come in and gone again, gone for good the man said. He had had his wages, and was openly impudent. And she hadn't left me a line! The next day the whole house was closed up. I can't understand it! Did Clara write to you?"

"Just a line to say that she couldn't face the fag of a New York season, and was going South for a rest."

"Let me see the letter, will you?"

"Oh, I didn't keep it."

"What do you suppose has become of Miriam?"

"You can search me."

In his mind's eye Jack had a vivid picture of that final scene between Miriam and Clara. Figuratively the fur must have flown!

"I can't understand it!" said poor Bobo. "I didn't do anything to her. She has my address."

"Forget her!" said Jack.

"Oh, you never liked her!" said poor Bobo.

Bobo instituted a sort of footless search for her, which consisted mainly in mooning around the different places they had visited together. Jack let him alone. It could do no harm he thought, and it kept Bobo occupied.

Meanwhile the poor fellow's appetite suffered. He lost weight and no longer found any zest in spending money. He moaned in his sleep, and cried out Miriam's name. Jack somehow had not suspected that a fat man might be so subjected to love's torments.

And then one night when Jack returned to dinner, after having spent the afternoon with Anderson, he found a change. He first noticed it in the eagerness with which Bobo picked up the menu card. Finding Jack's sharp eyes on him, he dropped it again, and said with a sigh that he couldn't eat a thing. But he did—several things. Bobo had but an imperfect command over his facial muscles. The corners of his mouth would turn up.

"He has seen her," thought Jack. "I'll have to tell him the truth now."

"What'll we do to-night?" said Bobo casually.

"Stay home," suggested Jack.

"If you're tired you'd better turn in early," said Bobo with deceitful solicitude. "I'll go out for a little while. I want to look around one or two places."

"All right. I want to have a little talk with you first."

Bobo's face fell absurdly. "Oh, all right," he muttered.

When they were back in their own rooms Jack said without preamble: "So you saw her to-day."

"Saw who?" said Bobo with innocent wide open eyes.

"Come off! Who is it that makes your eyes shine, and your mouth purse up in a whistle?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"We're wasting time."

"If you are referring to Miss Culbreth," said Bobo on his dignity, "I have not seen her."

"What's the use of lying to me? You're as transparent as window glass!"

"Oh, if you've made up your mind that I'm a liar, what's the use of my saying anything?"

"Look here. Miriam is either what I think she is, or what you think she is. If she's all that's good and pure as you think——"

"As I know!" corrected Bobo.

Jack dryly accepted the correction. "As you know. It can't do her any harm to tell me the truth about what happened to-day."

"I can't!" said Bobo obstinately.

"I suppose she made you promise not to tell me."

Bobo was silent.

"Very well. Now listen. When you came with me the first condition of our agreement was that you should obey orders. Isn't that so?"

Bobo nodded sullenly.

"Well, I order you to tell me what happened to-day. That lets you out of any promise you may have made."

Poor Bobo was quite unable to stand out against a stronger natur............