“Madam, I am daily entrusted with secrets by all manner of persons. You can rely upon it that anything you tell me in confidence will be as safe as though whispered in the ear of a father confessor. That is my business—we detectives rival the family doctors in being made the repository of secrets.” This was well put and quite reassuring, as he had intended it should be. The lady must have confidence in him now. “Mr. Darrell, I want your assistance in a little domestic matter. I am a young married woman—have been married a year, and my husband is a man you would call one in a thousand—a truthful, honorable gentleman, a favorite with every one he knows. “I love him deeply, esteem his noble qualities, and believe we could be happy through life, but there is a canker sore eating my heart—Joe has a secret, a terrible secret, and the knowledge of it is making me miserable.” She seemed a little overcome, and Darrell waited; meantime he grimly thought to himself how many Joes here in this wicked city of New York kept terrible secrets from their wives—yes, and the boot was on the other leg too. His business had brought him into contact with many such scenes. “Pardon my feeling so badly, Mr. Darrell. These things are an old story to you, but with me it means the wrecking of my whole life, and I am weak enough to be troubled by it.” He hastened to reassure her that he fully sympathized with her feelings. Thus encouraged she went on: “If ever a woman had reason to trust her husband I have—and yet, as I said, Joe has a secret from me, the knowledge of which is making me miserable. “I would not have him ever suspect that I came to consult you about it, but I am determined to know the truth—I am his wife—if he is gambling in secret, connected with any secret society or going to see some other woman I am resolved to know the worst. “It is hard for me to explain my position, Mr. Darrell—I believe in and trust my husband as much as nearly any woman could, but I know he is keeping something from me, which excites my curiosity greatly.” This was an old story with Darrell. He had seen other Joes before. In his own mind he was immediately convinced that the man was guilty. He believed Joe to be an unmitigated scoundrel to treat his young and pretty wife in this way—for the detective had already decided this question and believed the owner of this voice and figure must also be handsome. So he began to dig for facts, a little ruthlessly perhaps, because it was business. Your professor of anatomy does not waste time when getting down to a certain nerve or muscle which he wishes to expose to his class—the knife is applied without stint. So the detective asked questions in order to expose as much of the game as possible. “You have no hint of the truth, madam?” “None.” “Before marriage, was your husband a man of the world?” “He was always steady and quiet. I have never heard that my Joe ever had an entangling alliance before we were married.”