"Bad news!" The Australian's face pales as he speaks. "Tell it at once, sir." "Thomas Uliman and his wife are both dead." The Australian bows his head upon his hand and remains silent. "I can furnish you with dates and addresses that will enable you to make personal investigation. In fact, I am every moment expecting a visit from the gentleman who was Mr. Uliman's legal adviser." "Ah," sighs the Australian, "he may tell me where to find my little daughter." "I have also," resumes the Chief, "a brief report from Mr. Vernet." At these words Walter Parks leans forward. "May we hear it?" he asks anxiously. "Mr. Follingsbee, sir," says the office-boy at the door, in obedience to orders. And then Mr. Follingsbee enters. "I think," says the Chief, after performing the ceremony of introduction, "I think that we may waive all other business until Mr. Ainsworth's anxiety has been, in a measure, relieved." "By all means," acquiesced Walter Parks, suppressing his own feelings and withdrawing his chair a little into the background. Then John Ainsworth turns to the lawyer an anxious face. "I am told that you knew Thomas Uliman and his wife," he begins abruptly. "The late Thomas Uliman," corrects the lawyer; "yes, sir." "How long have they been dead?" "More than three years. They died in the same year." "Allow me"--the Chief interrupts. "This gentleman, Mr. Follingsbee, is the only brother of the late Mrs. Uliman. He has just been informed of her death." "Indeed!" Mr. Follingsbee rises and extends his hand. "I have heard her speak of her brother John," he says. "She grew to believe that you were dead." "And my daughter, my little girl--did _she_ think that, too?" "Your daughter?" Mr. Follingsbee turns an inquiring look upon the Chief. "Pardon me, I--I don't understand." "My child--I sent my child to her aunt--twenty years ago." Again Mr. Follingsbee looks from one face to the other inquiringly, and an expression of apprehension crosses the face of the Chief. "Mr. Ainsworth's daughter was less than three years old when she was sent to Mr. Uliman's care. In searching out the history of this family, I learn that they left an adopted daughter," the Chief explained. Mr. Follingsbee coughs nervously. "They left such a daughter," he says, hesitatingly, "but--she _was_ an adopted daughter--the child of unknown parents." Slowly John Ainsworth rises to his feet, his eyes turning appealingly from one to the other. "My God!" he exclaims hoarsely, "where then is my child?" In silence the three who sympathize with this father, look at one another helplessly. And as they sit thus silent, from the outer office comes the sound of a clear, ringing, buoyant laugh. Instantly the Chief starts forward, but the door flies open in his face, and Richard Stanhope stands upon the threshold. "Stanhope!" exclaims the Chief; "why, Dick!"