“I hope, if you find out what you want to know here, it ain’t going to get the gentleman into any trouble,” he said; “he was a good friend to me, and I should hate to do him an ill turn.” “You need not fear,” Geoffrey answered, thinking it best to deal frankly with these honest people; “the man was my father—at least, I have strong reasons for believing so; he disappeared several years ago, and my object in coming to you is simply to try to get some clew that will help me to trace him.” “I’m afraid, sir, you’ve come to a poor place to find out very much,” Mr. Brown remarked, and apparently satisfied with his visitor’s explanation. He proceeded to the secretary, opened one of its drawers, and took an old leather wallet from it. Unstrapping this, he laid it open before him, and after searching some time in its various pockets, he drew forth something wrapped in brown paper. This he carried to Geoffrey, and laid it in his hand. “There you have it, and it’s the best I can do for you,” he said. The young man quickly removed the paper, and found a portion of a golden charm or emblem; in the form of a knight-templar’s cross; very handsomely enameled and engraven. [Illustration] It had been broken diagonally across, the left and lower arms comprising the portion which the postmaster had found. Geoffrey turned it over and found the name “William”—all but the last letter—engraved on the back, something after the fashion of the accompanying diagram. The “m,” and probably the surname of the owner was to be found on the other half of the cross, wherever that might be. The young man sighed wearily, for if this was all the information which he was to obtain from his visit to Santa Fe, he would be as much in the dark as ever. “Where did you find this?” he asked, at length, turning to Mr. Brown. “On the floor, just under his box.” “Was he in the habit of wearing an emblem of this kind?” “Yes, sir; he had a fine one on his watch-chain, but it wasn’t like that,” said Mr. Brown. “Then how do you know that he lost this? It might have belonged to some one else.” “No; I am sure it was his, for I found it just after he’d been into the office to look after his letters, and there hadn’t been another soul in the room for nigh an hour. I reckon it was one of them things like what he wore, that had been broken, and he tucked it into his pocket and it fell out when he took out his keys to unlock his box,” Mr. Brown explained. “That might have been the way of it,” Geoffrey said, thoughtfully. “I went to the door to call him back,” the old gentleman continued; “but he’d got out of sight, so I put it away, thinking I’d give it to him the next time he came, and if you’ll believe it, I’ve never set eyes on him from that day to this.” “Did he never come again?” Geoffrey asked, surprised.