And now, my very dear friend, I must say good-by. Take it altogether, my two months with you have not been unhappy ones. On your part, if you have learned your lesson well, the investment you have made ought to yield a fair dividend. Forget me, if you can, forgive me at any rate. I have already given up my lodgings, so you need not seek me there. My address is for the present a secret. Yours Sincerely, "MARJORIE." Donald Camran, Esq., The Lambs. * * * * * I had finished the entire story and yet I sat upright, with my senses all about me. I was going to bear it very well, after all. A knock was heard upon the door of my apartment. The hallboy entered when I bade him do so and handed me a card, with the statement that the gentleman wished to see me on very important business. The name on the card was unknown to me, but I bade the boy send the owner up. It might prove a diversion and anything was welcome that would take my mind from Marjorie. I rose and was about to greet the new comer in the usual terms when a sight of his face stopped me. "Mr. Wesson, what does this mean?" I asked, angrily. "It means," said the person, with all his old coolness, "that Mr. Wesson has disappeared from the scene, and that I am plain Martin Daly, of the Blinkerdon Police, at your service." Staggered to the last degree I scanned his card again. It read, "M. Daly, Boston." "What do you want of me?" I asked, still standing and allowing him to do the same. "In the first place," he answered, "perhaps you will permit me to take a chair. In the second, you may be kind enough to read a letter which I have brought." He took the chair, without waiting for my permission and I received the letter, which I saw at once was addressed in the handwriting of my Uncle Dugald. My Dear Nephew [it read]:--This will introduce Detective Daly of the Blinkerdons, who, at my request, has been for eight or nine weeks attending to matters of importance to you. He will show you his bill for services and expenses, which I would suggest deserves your early consideration. If you decline, for any reason, to pay the bill, kindly let me know at once, that I may give him my own check for the amount. Yours, etc., DUGALD CAMRAN. New York, April 9th, 1898. I opened the bill, which had fallen upon the table, and read the following: Donald Camran, Esq., to Martin Daly, Dr. To services ninety days at $7 per day $630.00 To expenses of travel, etc., 521.50 To cash paid pawnbroker at Martinique and holder of ticket 125.00 -------- $1276.50 "What the devil does this mean, sir?" I demanded, very red in the face.