“Spoken like a true man, Joe. Shake hands on that as a bargain. I am, in this matter, hoping to prove your wife’s innocence, but I shall take up any evidence that comes along, and apply it where it belongs.” “I want you to, old fellow, no matter what the pain it brings.” “To begin with, you know all my hopes are to the end that Lillian may prove to be as innocent as a babe.” “Heaven grant it,” Joe groaned. His tone betokened despair. The detective judged from this that his friend must have made some discovery since last they met. “At the same time, Joe, you know as it looks at present, things are decidedly against your wife.” “I try to deceive myself, Eric, into the belief that it is not so, but I cannot, I cannot. She shall have a fair trial—I will give her the advantage of every doubt, and then—” He could not finish the sentence. Poor fellow! how Eric pitied him, and in that moment, believing Lillian guilty, cursed the hour she ever crossed Joe’s path, to blight a life devoted to her. Never mind—the end was not yet. “Tell me what you have discovered, Eric,” said Leslie, throwing off the terrible feeling that almost overcame him. “After you, my boy.” “How do you know I have anything to tell?” in a surprised tone. “Your looks give it away. Proceed.” So, being encouraged to speak, Joe gave a brief account of the charming scene that had taken place in his home on the preceding night. Eric was quite interested, and his reflections upon the little woman were flattering to her. Then came the climax. The note with the charred edge was produced, and submitted to examination. Eric looked upon it as furnishing quite a link in the chain of evidence—he believed the secret referred to must indeed mean that which they were looking up. When Joe heard the opinion of his friend, he was not much encouraged—indeed, his spirits were reduced to a lower ebb; but he shut his teeth and said nothing. “Now I want your opinion, Joe, as a man of some legal acumen. It is a little question I desire to have settled,” he said. With that he took out the document he had received from Lillian. “You recognize the handwriting?” “I do—it is my wife’s,” with a shiver. “I had another paper, but gave it up to the owner; but, as it fortunately turned out, ere doing so I traced the signature with a piece of tracing paper—see, here it is.” He put the two together. “Bend over, Joe.” “What do you want me to decide?” nervously, as might a man who feared lest his words might convict one he loved. “Examine these signatures.” “I am doing so.” “If asked your opinion frankly as an outsider, would you incline to the belief that one hand had made both of these?” “You insist on a reply?” “I think you had better give it.” “Then, according to my humble opinion, those letters are alike, and the chances are decidedly in favor of the same party having made both.” “My opinion exactly—I would not swear to it but I put the chances in that way.”