We talked over the matter, and I learned where the clerk kept his private rooms--for he boarded at a hotel, and roomed in a block of business offices and dormitories; and what at first surprised me was to learn that he had left much better rooms within a month or so, since the robbery, and taken up with poorer ones. Mr. Redfield could give me no information as to his habits, save what he judged and what the detectives had reported--all good. But somehow I suspected that there must be a woman involved in some way--a mistress, perhaps, whose extravagance had led astray the clerk, whom we will call Childs, to need more money than he could legitimately make. So I told Mr. Redfield that we must search Childs's room and private papers, if he had any; and it was arranged that Childs should be sent on business to Chicago for two or three days. Mr. Redfield had no difficulty in arranging that, and Childs departed, highly honored with his chief's confidence. We managed without much trouble to get into Childs's room, where everything but his trunks were first searched,--not excepting the minutest scraps of letters in a wastebasket,--where I found evidences of female correspondence. Further search among some books, on a little shelf at the top of a clothes-press or "closet," revealed some more in the same handwriting--sweet little _billets-doux_, longer letters, etc.,--all passionate, very,--sometimes complaining, etc. None of these had envelopes, and I therefore judged that they were written in the city, and sent through the post office, and that Childs probably always, at once, destroyed the envelopes. I should say that none, except some evidently old ones, had envelopes. There was no date or place, save "My little room,"--"Our dear boudoir," or something like that,--and sometimes a further day,--"Thursday Morning,"--"Monday Evening." It was evident to me that the charmer lived in the city somewhere; and I had already made up my mind that she must be tracked out as the first step, when, turning over a letter from this female, the rich, passionate, burning language of which, well-expressed, had led me on, I came to the conclusion, and found--"I have not received pay yet for that article. R---- must not think that he can neglect me as he did Hattie; I will be paid for what I write--something, at least. I guess we shall have to visit him together;" and with very affectionate words of parting, the letter closed. And then came a P. S. "Every day I grow more uneasy about _those papers_. I wish you would take them away. What if I should suddenly die, and they should be found with me? You said they were very valuable--and you may lose them. I should regret that. Come _to-night_, dearest."