Fire had destroyed all tangible evidence of the supposed murder.  
The Bradys were up against a hard proposition.
 
To evolve the truth from the matter as it now stood did not by any means seem easy.
 
Insurmountable difficulties had seemed to present themselves. All hung upon the single clew.
 
This was the lace handkerchief.
 
It was of delicate workmanship and had certainly belonged to a lady of refinement.
 
All manner of deductions could be made. It might be assumed that the victim was a wealthy woman, decoyed into a trap of death and for some unknown purpose murdered.
 
The Bradys pondered over the case long and deeply.
 
The ruins of the fire were visited.
 
An inspection seemed to verify the fact of the murder.
 
In the ashes there were found the bones of an unknown victim.
 
So nearly consumed were they that it was not easy to say whether they were those of a man or a woman.
 
But it was safe to assume the latter.
 
But beyond this, all was a wall of mystery. The detectives learned that the inmates of the tenement were an Irish family by the name of Roche.
 
They were honest working people and had been absent for the night on a visit to an adjoining town.
 
It was easily proved that they had no connection whatever with the crime.
 
Thus matters remained in statu quo when one day the detectives dropped into the office of the Chief of the Secret Service.
 
“Hello, boys!” called out the chief, in his cheery way. “What is the good word to-day?”
 
“We are up a stump,” replied Old King Brady.
 
“How so?”
 
“You know that mysterious Fifteenth street fire and murder?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“We can’t get a clew beyond this lace handkerchief.”
 
“Indeed!” exclaimed the chief. “Well, that is something. Let me see the handkerchief.”
 
Old King Brady placed a hand in his pocket for the handkerchief.
 
To his surprise it was not there.
 
“Oh, I recall,” he said, “I left that handkerchief in the room at our lodging house. Do you remember, Harry?”
 
“Yes,” replied the young detective. “That is the truth.”
 
“Then that is your only clew?” asked the chief.
 
“Yes.”
 
“To be sure it is a slight one. Was it a lady’s handkerchief?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then the victim was a woman?”
 
“We think so.”
 
The chief was silent a moment.
 
“Many a dark crime has been covered up in that same way,” he said. “Nothing obliterates the traces of a crime like fire.”
 
“That is right,” agreed Old King Brady. “The oddest thing of all is that the house was occupied by people who could have had no possible connection with the crime on account of absence.”
 
“Well, that is strange,” agreed the chief. “You cannot explain the dragging of the body into that house in particular?”
 
“Exactly.”
 
“It would seem that the perpetrators of the crime were acquainted with the fact that the inmates were away and that an excellent chance was afforded to cover up the murder,” said Harry.
 
“Ah, I see!” agreed the chief. “Altogether it is a baffling case.”
 
“There seems not even a shadow for us to grasp.”
 
The chief laughed.
 
“I’ll wager that state of affairs will not last long,” he 4 said. “The Bradys were never yet defeated, and I’m sure this case will meet the fate of all others.”
 
“We shall do our best,” said Old King Brady.
 
“If you were not already engaged on this case I could give you another which would interest you,” said the chief.
 
“What is it?” asked Harry.
 
“Perhaps we can handle both,” said Old King Brady.
 
But the chief shook his head.
 
“I think not,” he said. “It is a case which will require the best efforts of a man, and could hardly be divided.”
 
“Let us hear it,” said Old King Brady, with interest.
 
“Certainly!” agreed the chief, as he turned to his notebook. “Here are the details.”
 
The chief glanced over his notes and then said:
 
“A mysterious disappearance. A beautiful young society lady and heiress, of Westchester, drops suddenly from sight. Not a clew to her whereabouts.
 
“Miss Evelyn Grimm, daughter of the late Theophilus Grimm, and heiress to a vast estate now held in trust by Napoleon Blood, her uncle, awaiting her coming of age, suddenly disappears. The uncle is frantic and has used every means to trace her.
 
“The only clew is a brief note of appointment, written in a masculine hand, with these words:
 
“‘Miss Grimm: I will be at the union Square rendezvous at ten o’clock. Do not fail to meet me, for I have business of very great importance.
D. B.’”
 
The chief finished reading the notes and then leaned back in his chair.
 
When he looked up he was startled at the expression on the faces of the detectives.
 
Old King Brady’s eyes gleamed like balls of fire.
 
“What’s the matter, Brady? You look excited!” exclaimed the chief.
 
“Well, perhaps I am,” replied the old detective. “I beg leave to ask you the name of that young lady?”
 
“I read it to you. Miss Evelyn Grimm.”
 
“Grimm?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Both detectives drew a deep breath.
 
“She lived in Westchester?”
 
“So the notes say.”
 
“And kept an appointment at ten o’clock Wednesday evening at union Square?”
 
“It is believed so.”
 
“That was the night of the storm?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Also the night of the fire and murder in East Fifteenth street.”
 
“That is so!” The chief gave a start. “By jove!” he exclaimed. “You don’t really think that—there is any connection——”
 
“Yes,” said Old King Brady, emphatically, “there is no doubt of it!”
 
“How——”
 
“The name on the lace handkerchief which we found in the burning tenement, bore the name of Evelyn Grimm.”
 
For a moment the chief sat in startled silence.
 
Then he whistled.
 
“Whew!” he exclaimed. “I never dreamed of such a thing. But—I can see it plainly now.”
 
“The two cases are one.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“We can easily undertake your case for you.”
 
“On my word, this is a surprise,” said the chief. “But this is light upon the mystery. We now know the identity of the victim.”
 
“Beyond a doubt.”
 
“It is easy to assume that the young girl was decoyed to Fifteenth street and foully murdered.”
 
“For what purpose?”
 
“And by whom?”
 
“That remains to be unearthed.”
 
“It must be done!”
 
At this moment the door opened and a clerk appeared.
 
“What is it, White?” asked the chief.
 
“A gentleman to see you, sir,” replied the clerk, handing the chief a card. The latter glanced at it.
 
Then he gave a start.
 
The name upon the card was:
 
“Napoleon Blood, Notary and Justice, Wall street, New York.”
 
“The uncle and guardian,” said the chief. “What does he want to see me for? Perhaps he has a clew!”
 
The Bradys arose.
 
“Wait a moment,” said the chief, “I want you to hear what this visitor has to say.”
 
“But—perhaps he will not speak if we are here,” said Old King Brady.
 
“We will fix that,” said the chief, drawing the wing of a folding screen across a corner of the room. “Get behind this and listen.”
 
The detectives obeyed.
 
In a few moments the door again opened and the clerk showed Mr. Blood into the room.
 
Napoleon Blood, uncle of the missing heiress, was a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced man of not altogether prepossessing appearance.
 
He was dressed in dark clothes and had an oily, suave manner.
 
He bowed obsequiously as he accepted the chair proffered him by the chief.
 
“Well, Mr. Blood, what can I do for you?” asked the chief.
 
“Ah, if you could only give me a clew to the fate of my dear niece I would be forever in your debt,” replied Blood, in a psalm-singing tone.
 
The chief bowed.
 
“Then you have discovered nothing new?” he asked.
 
“Well, ahem! That is, I have a new theory.”
 
The chief affected interest.
 
“What is it?” he asked.
 
“Well, it may be only theory, but sometimes I think it fact. I do not wish to wrong the young man—but—you 5 see young people will be foolish—and—I—of course, this is all confidential.”
 
“Certainly!” replied the chief in a mystified way.
 
“There is a young man in the case. His name is Allerton Banks.”
 
The chief noted down the name.
 
“He is a poverty-stricken clerk,” continued Blood, “but he dared to aspire to the hand of my niece. Of course I forbade the thing at once. My niece acted very rebellious and forward and I was obliged to be very peremptory with her.
 
“I suspect that young Banks made the appointment with her which the note indicates. They very likely quarreled. Probably he tried to induce her to elope with him. When she refused, he might have, in a fit of rage, killed her and dragged her body into the tenement.”
 
The chief listened to this statement silently.
 
He was silent a long while. His gaze was fixed on Blood so long that the latter became nervous.
 
“I am sure,” said the notary, “that this clew, if followed up, will yield an explanation of the motive. I would suggest that detectives shadow young Banks and even that his lodgings be searched. I am convinced he is guilty.”
 
“Is it so bad as that?” said the chief, quietly. “We will consider your proposition, Mr. Blood. We are glad to get all the hints possible.”
 
“And young Banks——”
 
“Shall be put under surveillance.”