"Ah! now I see daylight. Go down-stairs and borrow a directory, Chick." When the directory was before him, Nick turned to the D's and found two Detsons, one a spinster dressmaker, called Hannah, the other a hospital attendant, called Christian. "Hannah is probably the sister, and lives on Locust Street. My ankle troubles me, or I would go over there myself." "I'll go; it's only a few blocks," said Chick. "What shall I say to her?" "If she proves to be Christian's sister, ask her how often she sees her brother, and when. Christian may have regular hours for visiting his sister. Perhaps he comes every day. I hope he does. In explanation of your questions, say a friend of yours wishes to see her brother on important business." Chick was gone an hour. When he returned he was whistling. "Christian is the brother, all right," he said to Nick, "and he will be at his sister's this evening. Hours from eight to ten o'clock." "Good. And did you learn anything about Christian's affairs, and family history, and so forth? I did not ask you to go into any such matters, for I knew you would take advantage of circumstances and get all there was coming to you." "Say, she is a peach, Nick," returned Chick, enthusiastically. "A pretty, plump, flaxen-haired angel. Her brother is the apple of her eye. He is saving up money to send for the old mother in Sweden, and she is helping all she can. I hadn't been with her ten minutes before she was telling me the story of her life." "Then the way is easy, Chick. Christian will jump at the chance of securing a neat sum in a lump. But he must first be assured that he will be doing a creditable thing. If he is on the square, as he probably is, from your account, I think I can convince him that in assisting me he is not only benefiting himself, but is also doing a commendable act." The two detectives then put their heads together, conversing together earnestly until dinner-time came. That evening Nick had a long and satisfactory talk with Christian Detson. "Dey ban some man ho would yump at dat chance," he said, at the end of the conversation, "but ay look bayfore ay do any yumpin'. Ay tank ay see where ay ban land vurst." Late in the afternoon of the next day Doctor Holcomb received a new patient, a young man of powerful physique, who gave no trouble, for his mania was not a violent one. The certificate which his conductors, two well-known business men of St. Louis, presented set forth that he was suffering from acute dementia. His face was drawn, his eyes were lusterless, and his mouth gave a clicking sound, but no words came, whenever he was spoken to. "I don't think there is any hope for him," said Doctor Holcomb to the men who had brought the subject, "for dementia such as he is afflicted with is generally the last stage before death. He may live a year, he may die in a month."