“Not at all, Mrs. Leslie—in fact, I shall do the work all the more eagerly, hoping it may all prove to be a mistake.” “I too hope so, but my heart is filled with fears. I seem to have lived years since making this discovery. At first I meant to ask my husband plainly to explain it, but something held my tongue—for my life I could not—and only as a last resort have I come to you.” “Kindly write the number of the house here—you know it, of course.” “Indeed it is burned on my brain as with letters of fire,” and she obeyed him. “Now, Mrs. Leslie, you are to leave this matter in my hands and think of it as little as you can. At home appear as natural as you may, and believe that I will serve your interests faithfully, first, last and all the time. “Joe is a friend of mine, and yet if he is a villain—which I cannot believe—I will discover the proofs of it and hand them to you.” “Mr. Darrell, I thank you,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “There is no occasion for it, madam—this is business with me, leaving sentiment aside—I shall charge you my regular price for such work; but at the same time I honestly hope your husband will be able to prove his innocence.” “Amen!” she said, solemnly. At this moment there came a loud rap on the door—Mrs. Leslie uttered a little scream, which was pretty well muffled by the cobweb of a handkerchief she thrust up to her mouth. As for Eric Darrell, the detective, he glanced up at the small tell-tale mirror just inside the transom over the door—his face was screwed up into a pucker, and pressing his finger on his lips he said in a low voice: “Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! The man who knocks is your husband, Mrs. Leslie.” CHAPTER II TWO OF A KIND The pretty little lady came very near swooning when she heard this. Darrell arose from his chair. “Come with me through the inner office,” he said in low tones. She followed him, trembling like a leaf, and looking back as though she expected the door to be broken in, and an angry husband to make his appearance on the scene. “He must have followed me—he will be so angry—oh! what shall I do—how shall I look him in the face again?” she moaned. “He need not see you now—here is a door that lets you out into the passage around the corner, and you can descend the stairs without being discovered. As for looking him in the face again, you have no reason to shun him, my dear madam—you are innocent of wrong-doing at any rate, and if anybody is going to be ashamed let it be him. Good-bye, madam, trust me to the utmost.” She gave him one pitiful look that haunted the old bachelor for many days, and then, allowing her veil to fall over her pretty face, passed on toward the stairs. Meanwhile, the knock on the other door had been twice repeated—the man without was evidently growing impatient. Mr. Darrell walked over to the door and opened it. “What! you, Leslie, my boy? It’s good for sore eyes to see your face.” They shook hands warmly. Leslie walked in.