“I don’t see anything so far,” he observed, “to indicate that your son is not alive and well at this moment.” Doctor Hoff struck his fist down heavily on the desk. “What’s this you’re givin’ me? Can’t you read? Look at that note there, an’ the blood on the shirt.” “Would you mind moderating your voice? My outside office is full of more or less excitable clients,” said the Ad-Visor mildly. “Moreover, it’s not blood anyway.” “What is it, then?” “That’s beside the question. Dried blood rubs off a faint buff color.” He picked up the sheet of paper from his desk. A deep brownish streak showed where he had applied the moistened cloth. “It’s the rawest kind of a blind. Why, the idiot who sent the shirt didn’t even have the sense to fake bullet holes. Enough to make one lose all interest in the case,” he added disgustedly. Doctor Hoff began tugging at his side-whiskers. “Don’t do nothing like that,” he pleaded. “Come with me to Cincinnati. If he ain’t dead they’ve kidnapped him for a ransom.” “Then Cincinnati is the last place on the map to look, because there’s where they want you to think he is. But it doesn’t look like a case of ransom to me. Let’s see. Was he particularly drunk the day before he disappeared?” “No. He was sober.” “Unusually sober, maybe?” suggested the other. “Yes, he was. Been sober for a week. An’ he was studyin’, too.” “Ah! Studying what?” “Spanish.” “Spanish, eh? Ever exhibit any interest in foreign tongues before?” “Not enough to get him through one term in college,” returned the other grimly. “How did you know about his studying?” “Seen the perfessor in the house.” “Some one you knew?” “No. I asked him. Roddy was sore because I found out what he was up to.” Upon that point Average Jones meditated a moment. “Did you see this Spanish professor again?” he inquired presently. “Now that you speak of it, I didn’t see him but the once.” “Can you leave for Toledo on to-night’s train?” “You’re goin’ to take the case, then?” the quack clawed nervously at his professional white whiskers. “What’s your terms?” he demanded. “That I’m to have full control and that you’re to take orders and not give them.” Doctor Hoff swallowed that with a gulp. “You’re on,” he said finally. On the train Doctor Hoff regaled his companion with a strictly paternal view of his son’s character and pursuits as he knew them. This served, at least, to enlarge his auditor’s ideas as to the average American father’s vast and profound ignorance of the life, habits, manners and customs of that common but variable species, the Offspring. Beyond this it had little value. Average Jones gave its author a few specific instructions as to minor lines of home investigation, and retired to map out a tentative campaign. His first call, on arriving at Toledo, was at the business office of the _Daily Saw_, in which he inserted the following paragraph on a repeat-until-stopped order: