After it had been thoroughly reviewed by Clarence and Olive, they were forced to confess that they were not one whit the wiser. The detective had found how and where Percy had squandered much of his fortune, but had brought to light absolutely nothing that could be of use to his employers. And so they abandoned the investigation in that direction. But when the report of the Professor's case was sent in, they found more cause for congratulation. First, it had been discovered that the Professor had visited three different physicians, all of them men bearing reputations not over spotless. Next he had made sundry purchases from two different chemists; and third, last and all important, he had been dogged to the bazaar of a dealer in theatrical wares, where he had purchased a wig, beard, and other articles of disguise. Two days had passed since the above discoveries were reported. Then the detective called upon Dr. Vaughan and informed him that Mr. Davlin and the Professor, the latter disguised with wig, beard and spectacles, had taken the early morning train that very day, and that he, the detective, had been lounging so near that he heard Davlin call for two tickets to Bellair. And then they knew that the siege had begun. Three days later, Olive received the following letter, which speaks for itself: OAKLEY, WEDNESDAY EVENING. DEAR OLIVE: The engagement has opened in earnest. Last evening, Mr. D. and _le Docteur_, between them, frightened the two maids out of the house. This morning I succeeded in scaring away the old housekeeper, which made a shortage in servants. Old Hagar happened along just then _by some chance_, and declared herself not at all afraid of contagion; so madame bade her brother employ her. The cook remains, as _Monsieur_ and _le Docteur_ must eat. My meals are served in madame's dressing-room, and shared by that lady. Courage, my friend, our time is almost here. And I am yours till death, M----. This letter was perused by Olive and Clarence with almost breathless eagerness and interest. And then they found themselves once more waiting eagerly for fresh tidings from the "seat of war," as Clarence termed it. At last came a letter from Madeline that aroused them as the clarion stirs those arrayed for battle. It ran as follows, bearing neither date nor signature: TO ARMS, MY FRIENDS! If you were among the village gossips to-day, this is what you would hear, for it is what is fast spreading itself through the town: