“You are right, Ida,” he said, as he returned to the table. “Though the character of the writing is heavy and masculine, yet it is clear that a female hand wrote both notes.” Chick took them up again and carefully examined them. “Ida,” said Chick, “while you are undoubtedly right in this, it would seem to upset your theory that we must look for the reasons of this mysterious disappearance in the life of Ellison in England, prior to his coming to this country.” Ida took up the envelope of the last letter, and, inspecting the postmark, replied: “Yes, since a woman is involved, as these letters show, and she is in this city now. This letter was mailed this afternoon by three o’clock.” Nick turned with a start. “By three o’clock?” he asked. “Are you sure?” Ida handed him the envelope, saying: “Look for yourself. And it was from the General Post Office.” “Then,” said Nick, “the writer of this letter knew of the disappearance as quickly as we did.” “It’s my guess,” said Patsy, “before.” “You mean,” said Nick, “that she was a part of it?” “Perhaps,” said Patsy; “anyhow, she knew it was goin’ to take place.” “And it is my guess,” said Ida, “that the woman who wrote this letter is not the woman that Ellison is mixed up with, but is a woman who is in love with Ellison and who wants to get the other woman in trouble.” “How in the world do you figure that out?” asked Chick. “I don’t figure it out,” said Ida. “I’m guessing, like Patsy.” She looked up at Nick and laughed as she continued: “It is a guess based on my understanding of my own sex.” “It is something to pay attention to,” said Nick, “especially in a case so dark and difficult as this is. But, Ida, if we are to guess on the probable actions of women, we could do a great deal more guessing.” “As for instance, how?” asked Ida. “We might guess that the woman who writes to us wishes to strike the one Ellison married to-day, and that the job put up was to prevent the marriage taking place, but that it miscarried.” “Oh, if you’re going to guess,” said Chick, “you can guess anything, but the real thing is to find the writer of these letters as a beginning.” “See here, chief,” said Patsy, “are not we losing sight of one thing in thinking only of this mysterious disappearance?” “In what way?” asked Nick. “Well,” said Patsy, “what was the start of this game, anyhow? Wasn’t it a warning that the Sanborn house was to be robbed to-day?” “If you’re never more wrong than you are in that, Patsy,” said Chick, teasingly, “you’ll always be dead right, my laddy buck.” “You’re getting gay, Chick,” replied Patsy. “I’ve got a notion in my think box that I know where the start is in this case.” The three turned with interest to Patsy, and Chick, inclined to jolly Patsy, said: “Expatiate, my brilliant statesman, expatiate.” Patsy turned to Chick with a merry twinkle in his eye and asked: “Did it hurt yer much to cough that up?” “Come,” said Nick, “say what’s in you, Patsy.”