'He can't be there,' I thought, and I was creeping out of the Square when two men came into it. One of them had a bull's eye lamp in his hand, and I saw they were policemen. My anxiety then was to get away from them, but they saw me and called out to me to stop, and laid hands on me. How I escaped I don't know, but I tore myself away and ran for my life, and in a minute or two I was alone and free. Then I managed to find my way back here, and sent the good landlady to bed, telling her that the person I had gone to fetch was out of town. Yesterday morning early I sent for a doctor, and he said that Reginald would have died if he hadn't been called in, but that there were hopes for him. Oh, how I thanked God for the good news! and how grateful I was when Reginald last night opened his eyes and recognised me! He didn't blame me, poor boy, but spoke so sweetly of everybody! I told him how I had run away from home, and I begged him to allow me to end this mystery and to make things right with father and mother. He thought a little, and said, 'Send for your cousin Dick, and do what he advises.' I cried for joy, and I sat down at once and wrote to you. Now you know all, dear. Will you go and tell them everything, and ask them to forgive poor Reginald and me?" "I will, Florence," said Dick, "the moment I go from here. It will be a happiness to me to relieve their suspense. But I want to ask you a question or two first." "Yes, Dick." "How long has Reginald been ill?" "Since Saturday." "Has he been in bed all the time?" "Yes." "May I go into his room?" "What for? If he's asleep"--she opened the door and peeped in--"yes, he's asleep. You won't disturb him, Dick?" "No, I will not speak to him. I've got my reasons, Florence." "Very well, dear," she said, her eyes following him as he stepped softly to the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. His purpose was to examine Reginald's boots, and he saw them the moment he entered the room. Reginald having been in bed since Saturday they could not have been worn since his visit to Catchpole Square on Friday night. Dick took them up, and discerned on the soles traces of the waxed paper which Samuel Boyd had set as a trap. With his penknife he carefully scraped off these tell-tale evidences of the visit, and returned to Florence. "Do you know," he asked, "when Reginald saw his father last?" "No," she answered, "it must have been a long time ago." He did not disabuse her. "He is sleeping quite calmly," he said. "Did the doctor say when he would be able to get up?" "In two or three days, he told me, if the opiate he gave him had the desired effect. It _is_ having it, Dick." "No doubt of that. By the way, Florence, in your haste to escape from the policemen in Catchpole Square did you lose or drop anything?" "How clever you are to think of it, Dick! I lost a handkerchief." "With your name on it?"