“I only desire the paper for my own satisfaction, and not to show. You can merely state that you are entirely satisfied with the services of Eric Darrell, and if you prefer, simply sign your initials.” Crafty man—the initial was what he wanted above all else. Her face brightened. “I do not know that I would object to that, Mr. Darrell, since my identity is concealed. Do you want it now?” “If you please,” humbly, but secretly exulting over his success. She went to the desk, opened it and sat down—after a minute’s thought she wrote something upon a sheet of paper. “Will that do, Mr. Darrell?” handing it to him. He glanced at it and read: “This is to certify that Mr. Eric Darrell has accomplished the work for which I have employed him, in a thoroughly satisfactory manner, and that I am well satisfied with his services. L. L. “New York, October 7, 188–” Darrell smiled. “A thousand thanks, madam.” “It answers your purpose?” quietly. “Yes, yes.” Although he smiled Eric Darrell felt as though he could have wept just then. The one glance he had taken had revealed the fact that the capital L made by Mrs. Leslie was very similar to the one which he had seen signed to the note Paul Prescott had let fall. It was a shock to the detective, even though he had in a measure expected it. That point gained he put the matter aside for the present and continued to appear pleasant, though it was only with an effort he could do so. For a little he chatted with the lady, and endeavored to study her. Darrell thought that if his suspicions were proven true, Lillian Leslie must be the perfection of an actress—he had never seen two such extremes meet in an individual—she was the incarnation of good and evil. “By the way, are you acquainted with a Mrs. Collingwood of your street here?” he asked after a while, in a careless tone. “Yes, I know her.” She looked surprised, as though wondering where he could have met her. “Last night I made her acquaintance. She is accounted a rather handsome woman, I believe.” This was put out as a sort of feeler, for he had not even seen her face. Lillian answered in a manner that declared what little interest she had in the lady: “I believe so, but we were never friends, and I do not know much about the lady.” That ended it. Darrell soon took his leave, having gained the point for which he had come. When he entered a car on the elevated road he found a corner to himself, and then, unable to wait longer, proceeded to compare the two notes. Just as he thought, the writing was of the same order, and there was much resemblance in the capital letters. Still, Eric had seen enough to know that only an expert could decide this question beyond all cavil. Before now he had seen the chirography of two persons resemble each other, and this was not to be accepted as conclusive evidence.