There was a happy meeting at Doctor Holcomb's sanatorium the day following the death of Gabriel Leonard. But the delight on the part of Mrs. Dashwood was soon mingled with sorrow, for, though she had found her husband, just saved from the jaws of death, she had lost her father, whose tender solicitude for her welfare had been one of the joys of her life. To Nick Carter John Dashwood explained his presence on the wharf that fatal night. "Filbon's absence from home," he said, "alarmed me. Of course, there was the possibility that he had fled the city, fearing that Mr. Leonard, upon discovering the robbery, would have him arrested and punished. But there was, also, the possibility that Filbon, weak-natured as he was, had committed suicide. After a talk with his mother, in which I made light of my call, saying it was on a matter of business requiring attention early next morning, and of which I had forgotten to speak when I parted with Filbon, I went to the wharf, fearing that he had thrown himself into the river, yet hoping I should find him somewhere in the vicinity, his rash design not yet accomplished. I did not find him, but I met Madame Ree." A few days after this conversation Nick and Chick left St. Louis for New York. In his comfortable den the great detective went over the case for the benefit of Patsy and Ten-Ichi. They were intensely interested in the recital of events, dating from the night of the disappearance of John Dashwood. "When did you spot the truth?" asked Patsy. "When I found Cora Reesey's brooch on the wharf, I began to have a dim idea of what had happened. But I did not unbosom myself to the chief of police, for the reason that I hadn't a particle of evidence to support the theory that the woman had been murdered and not the man. Thereafter, however, I worked with that theory in mind. It seemed plausible. In fact, it was the only theory which could explain many circumstances. The disappearance of Filbon's boat was evidence to my mind that a living body had been taken away, and not a dead one. There would be no need to row away with a dead body; the deep, slowly moving Mississippi could take care of that. Then, as I thought of the possibility of somebody--Leonard, probably--taking away a wounded man in a boat, my mind reverted to the assurance Leonard had given his daughter that Dashwood would soon turn up all right. If he had killed Dashwood, or knew that Dashwood had been killed by somebody else, he would not have acted as he did.