During all this time, Messrs. Trump, Sequence, and Co. had been fairly worried out of their wits, day and night, with false reports about the finding of Susan. More than a hundred persons had come to their offices brimful of the intelligence that they had secured the fugitive, and had seen her at all sorts of unheard of places; but the persons whom they thought to be Susan turned out to be totally unlike her in every particular. Mr Trump was for ever going with the police to inspect the bodies of drowned persons; and yet no trace was found of the missing girl, and he at last began to hope devoutly that she would be found soon, whether dead or alive he did not care which, for he was bothered to death about the matter. Indeed, he would have cheerfully given a handsome sum to have "washed his hands," as he often said to Sequence, who had a peculiar, parrot-like habit of repeating Trump's words after him, as if affirmatively, "of the whole affair." To which Sequence would nod his head, and respond sagaciously, "Certainly, of the whole affair." When Markworth, therefore, after the search had lasted a month, walked into the office one morning just after his interview with the Jew, Solomonson, and told Mr Trump, who had accosted him graciously, thinking he was a new client, that he came about the advertisement for the lost girl, Mr Trump was wroth and slightly snappy. "I hope to goodness you've really found her, and not come here with any cock and bull story like the rest of 'em." "I think you'll find," said Markworth, taking out the marriage certificate which he had brought with him, the advertisement, and a photographic likeness which he had had taken at Havre, "when you look at these, that I've found the girl, and am entitled to the reward you have offered." "This is Susan, sure enough; but," he observed, "where's it taken? Havre? Havre? How the devil did she get there?" "I took her there," answered Markworth, in the most cool and collected manner, according to his wont; "and if you'll look at this certificate here you'll see that I had a perfect right to do so. She is my wife!" "Whew!" whistled Mr Trump, through his closed teeth. "Your wife! Why, the girl's insane!" "That's where you make the mistake, my dear sir! She's no more insane than you are. Her people ought to have told you that, for although she had been previously a little `foolish,' perhaps, they saw her improvement of late; and she had the sense, at all events, to run away with me and get married, and that's no proof of her insanity." "I don't know about that," said Mr Trump, "I don't know about that. I remember now, the old doctor said that she had been more intelligent before she disappeared, but he did not tell me that Susan Hartshorne was quite right in her mind, and I won't believe it. Do you know Mr --, I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name." "Markworth, Allynne Markworth," said that gentleman.