The time has come, or will soon come, when Mrs. W--will find it necessary to confide her troubles to Mr. Follingsbee. The time is also near when you will have to fight Van Vernet face to face. You will do well to trust your case to Mr. Follingsbee, relying upon him in every particular. You will have to meet strategy with strategy, if you would outwit Vernet. A FRIEND. Alan perused this slowly, noting that the handwriting was identical with that of the scrap left by the "organ-grinder," and then he refolded it, saying: "I am the bearer of a missive for you, Mr. Follingsbee; but first, let me ask if I may know who sent me this message?" "It was left in my hands," replied the lawyer, smiling slightly, "by--by a person with ragged garments, and a dirty face. He appeared to be a deaf mute, and looked like--" "Like an organ-grinder minus his organ?" finished Alan. "Just so." "I trust that _this_ will explain itself," said Alan, drawing forth from an inner pocket Leslie's letter, and giving it into the lawyer's hand. "Read it, Mr. Follingsbee. This day has been steeped in mystery; let us clear away such clouds as we can." "From Leslie!" Mr. Follingsbee said, elevating his eyebrows. "This is an unexpected part of the programme." "Indeed? And yet this,--" and Alan tapped the note he had just received, with one long, white forefinger,--"this foretells it." "Ah!" Only this monosyllable; then Mr. Follingsbee broke the seal of Leslie's letter and began its perusal, his face growing graver and more troubled as he read. It was a long letter, and he read it slowly, turning back a page sometimes to re-read a certain passage. Finally he laid the letter upon his knee, and sat quite still, with his hands working together nervously and his brow wrinkled in thought. At last he lifted his eyes toward Alan. "Do you know what this letter contains?" he asked slowly. "I know that my sister-in-law has left her home," Alan replied gravely; "nothing more." "Nothing more?" "Nothing; really. She left three letters: one for Mrs. French, another for Miss French, and the third for yourself." "And you.... She left you some message?" "Not a word, verbal or written." "Strange," mused the lawyer, taking up his letter and again glancing through its pages. "I can't understand it. Mr. Warburton--pardon the question--was there any difference, any misunderstanding, between you and Leslie?" "Does not the letter itself explain?" "That is what puzzles me. The letter tells her own story--a story that I knew before, in part at least; a sad story, proving to me that the girl has been made to suffer bitterly; but it does not, from first to last, mention your name." Alan sat silent for a moment. Then he turned his face toward the lawyer, as if acting upon some resolve.