Nick returned to the corridor and compared the girl’s writing with that in the torn letter found near the scene of the murder. A mere glance at both, for Nick was a keen chirographist, convinced him that Lottie Trent was the writer. He replaced the letter in his pocket and returned to Garland’s office. “He came in soon after you went out,” remarked the stenographer, looking up and smiling. “You will find him in his private office.” Nick entered it without knocking. Garland was seated at a large roll-top desk. He swung round in his swivel chair and sharply eyed the detective. “Oh, you’re the gentleman who called while I was out,” he said, a bit brusquely. “Sit down. What can I do for you? My clerk said you spoke of having important business.” “It is very important,” Nick replied, drawing up a chair. “Concerning what? I don’t recall having met you.” “My name is Parsons,” said Nick, turning the lapel of his vest and displaying the edge of his detective badge. “I am in the bureau of secret investigation.” “A detective?” “Yes, in other words.” “But why have you called on me? What’s your business?” Garland demanded, with sharper scrutiny. “This may give you a hint at it,” said Nick, unfolding the pasted letter and handing it to him. Garland took it and viewed it curiously for a moment. He then read it without speaking, but with brows knitting closer over his feverish eyes. Looking up with a perplexity not easily to have been distrusted, he asked, a bit curtly: “Why is it pasted together in this way? It gives me no hint at your business. What’s the meaning of it?” “You don’t know?” questioned Nick, though already convinced of it. “Certainly not. It’s Greek to me.” “Have you never seen it before?” “No, never.” “Do you recognize the writing?” “I do not. I haven’t the slightest idea who wrote it. Why is the signature missing?” “Because I could not find the fragment containing it where I found the others,” said Nick. “I happen to know, however, who wrote the letter.” “Who?” “A girl named Lottie Trent.” “Lottie Trent--oh, by thunder!” Garland’s frown vanished as quick as a flash. “By Jove this may help to clear up a mystery, Mr. Parsons. Lottie Trent is missing and cannot be found. I have just talked with her employer. He----” “So have I,” Nick interrupted. “He told me that you have frequently been seen talking with the girl. Talking with her so earnestly that----” “Stop!” Garland’s teeth met with a quick snap. “And that led you to suspect that this letter was sent to me. I see, now, why you covertly approached the matter. You aimed to evoke some sign of self-betrayal on my part. Understand one thing, Mr. Parsons, right here and now,” he added with threatening vehemence. “I know nothing about this letter nor about Lottie Trent.” “You did not see her, then, last evening,” said Nick, unruffled. “No, sir; I did not.” “Nor attempt to meet her?”