And there had been some hours of clearness of vision, of return to memory, before death claimed its prize. He had told them his name, and all about himself—and also that nowhere in the world did there remain one person who was nearly enough related to him to care whether he lived or died; that he was the last of his race, in the direct line, and that he bore an old and honored name upon which there had never been a blemish, save that one which poverty imposes. Ledger Dinwiddie died in the spare bedroom of that cottage inhabited by these two products of the underworld, cared for during his last hours by two as uncompromising crooks and rogues as ever lived to prey upon mankind. And so, Ledger Dinwiddie did not die, but lived on again in the person of Bare-Faced Jimmy, who adopted the name and the lineage of his uninvited guest, and who went forth, presently, to assume all the prerogatives which the possession of that name could bestow upon him. CHAPTER II. BACK FROM THE DEAD. “It was four years ago, wasn’t it, Chick, when Bare-Faced Jimmy kept us guessing? You remember Jimmy Duryea, don’t you?” asked Nick Carter of his first assistant, as he lighted a cigar immediately after breakfast, one Monday morning. “Remember him? I should say I do!” replied Chick, as he selected a cigar from the box on the table. “Bare-Faced Jimmy! The mere mention of that name, Nick, calls up a great many recollections. And that reminds me; I wonder what has become of Nan Nightingale. I have not seen a line about her in any of the papers lately. Has she left the stage?” “I saw her last evening, at church or, rather, just as we were coming out of church,” replied the detective. “That was why I asked the question.” “You saw Nan?” “Yes; and talked with her.” “And her husband—Smathers was his name, wasn’t it—did you see him, too?” “No. Smathers—The Man of Many Faces, as he called himself on the vaudeville stage—is dead. He died about a year and a half ago, Nan told me. Jimmy Duryea was her first husband, you know. She got a divorce from him when he was sent to prison, and afterward married Smathers. Smathers has been dead more than a year, and Nan thinks that Jimmy is still alive.” “Jimmy Duryea alive? Impossible.” “That is what I told her; but she insists that she saw him—or his ghost.” “Then it must have been his ghost, Nick. Jimmy has been dead four years. He died soon after you took him off that island in the Sound, near South Norwalk, didn’t he?” “That was the supposition. That has always been my belief. Do you remember that last stunt of his, Chick?” “The time he passed himself off as Paran Maxwell, do you mean?” “Yes.” “I think we all have cause to remember that incident. Bare-Faced Jimmy was a remarkable chap, Nick, take it all in all.”