"Yes, I think so, but I am not sure about it or any thing else in connection with her at that time. The subject was so painful we never discussed it." "Why painful?" "She lost her husband so soon." "But you can tell me the name of the town in which this hotel was, can you not?" "It was called Swanson then, but that was fifteen years ago. Its name may have been changed since." Swanson! This was something to learn, but not much. Mr. Gryce returned to his first question. "You have not told me," said he, "why _you_ believe Craik Mansell to be innocent?" "Well," replied she, "_I_ believe Craik Mansell to be innocent because he is the son of his mother. I think I know _him_ pretty well, but I am certain I knew _her_. She was a woman who would go through fire and water to attain a purpose she thought right, but who would stop in the midst of any project the moment she felt the least doubt of its being just or wise. Craik has his mother's forehead and eyes, and no one will ever make me believe he has not her principles also." "I coincide with you, madam," remarked the attentive detective. "I hope the jury will," was her energetic response. He bowed and was about to attempt another question, when an interruption occurred. Miss Firman was called from the room, and Mr. Gryce found himself left for a few moments alone. His thoughts, as he awaited her return, were far from cheerful, for he saw a long and tedious line of inquiry opening before him in the West, which, if it did not end in failure, promised to exhaust not only a week, but possibly many months, before certainty of any kind could be obtained. With Miss Dare on the verge of a fever, and Mansell in a position calling for the utmost nerve and self-control, this prospect looked any thing but attractive to the benevolent detective; and, carried away by his impatience, he was about to give utterance to an angry ejaculation against the man he believed to be the author of all this mischief, when he suddenly heard a voice raised from some unknown quarter near by, saying in strange tones he was positive did not proceed from Miss Firman: "Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? Clemmens or Orcutt? I cannot remember." Naturally excited and aroused, Mr. Gryce rose and looked about him. A door stood ajar at his back. Hastening toward it, he was about to lay his hand on the knob when Miss Firman returned. "Oh, I beg you," she entreated. "That is my mother's room, and she is not at all well." "I was going to her assistance," asserted the detective, with grave composure. "She has just uttered a cry." "Oh, you don't say so!" exclaimed the unsuspicious spinster, and hurrying forward, she threw open the door herself. Mr. Gryce benevolently followed. "Why, she is asleep," protested Miss Firman, turning on the detective with a suspicious look. Mr. Gryce, with a glance toward the bed he saw before him, bowed with seeming perplexity.