Detectives have, in the ordinary course of their duty, to place themselves in equivocal positions with those with whom they are watching and studying, in order to get proofs of their guilt, and there are doubtless cases in which appearances may be against them, though they are only loyally fulfilling their duties to their superiors in ferreting out the secrets of suspected people. What is wanted under such circumstances is a very cheap system of supervision and control. Officers employed in this way ought to be bound to keep a detailed diary of their proceedings, and to report continually to headquarters what they have in view and what they are doing. Something ought also to be done to raise the character of the men and perhaps the rate of their pay. It is quite certain that our system is at fault somewhere. Mr. Wrench was an officer perhaps a little beyond others of his class. As we have already seen, he was persevering and intelligent, and Mr. Chicknell had acted wisely in securing his services for Lord Ethalwood. Charles Peace was perfectly astounded when he became aware of the facts detailed to him by the detective. He had never heard of the jewellery taken from the dead body of the lady in the infirmary――had never for a moment imagined that there was any doubt about the paternity of Aveline, whom he implicitly believed to be the daughter of Mrs. Maitland. He was almost bewildered by the discovery made by the officer, who gave the details in a matter-of-fact sort of way, which left no doubt as to their accuracy. Mr. Wrench remained in the public room for some time drinking with Peace, to whom he stood divers and sundry potations. After this he whispered to our hero that he was about to retire, wished him goodnight, and betook himself to his bedchamber. Peace did not leave the parlour for an hour or two after the withdrawal of his companion. He played several pieces on his violin, much to the delight of the assembled guests, and then in his turn retired to his room. He was, however, too restless and fidgetty to seek repose. He sat himself on the edge of his bed and thought over all the strange incidents which had come to his knowledge in respect to Aveline. The whole affair seemed to be like the disjointed fragments of a nightmare. “Was it possible that Aveline, whom he had loved in an earlier day, was a descendant of a great and honoured line?” “I say it seems like a dream,” murmured Peace, “altogether like a dream to think that I should have proposed to one of such high birth; but no, it cannot be. To think, also, that I should be the means of tracing her out――that is still more wonderful.” While thus ruminating he was startled by a noise as of something heavy thrown against the window of his little room. He arose suddenly and threw open the casement. Something was flung into the window. It fell upon the floor. Peace picked it up. It was a small pebble, around which was a piece of note paper.