"No," he said, "no luck. Miss Lawrence bought no ticket at the station here last night, nor did either of the Kingdons. The agent was on duty from six o'clock till midnight. But he suggests a very simple way in which she could have escaped notice, had she wished. She had merely to enter the train without buying a ticket, and pay her fare direct to the conductor. I'm inclined to think that's what she did--providing, of course, that she left town at all." "I think she's left," I said; "and that's no doubt the way she did it." "Now, I'll have to say good-bye," he added. "I don't think I shall stay here much longer--the case isn't worth it. When do you go back?" "I don't know, yet," I answered. "I've got to have something to take to Curtiss. I can't go back empty-handed." "I'll let you know if I hear anything," he said. "Our correspondent here will be on the lookout for developments. My sympathies are all with Curtiss. I want to help you." "Thank you," I said. "Good-bye." I watched him for a moment, as he hurried down the street; then I turned back towards the Lawrence house. Yes, Godfrey evidently wished to help me; and yet, while he had given me a lot of what he called "interesting information," and had treated me to a no-less-interesting theory, he had only made the mystery more impenetrable than ever. "Beg pardon, sir," said a voice, and somebody ran into me. I glanced up to see that it was a pert-looking boy, wearing a cap with "W. U." on the front. We were just at the Lawrence gate. "All right," I said. "No harm done," and entered. Not till I was half-way up the walk, did it occur to me that the boy had probably come out of the gate--that he had brought a message--from whom? for whom? I rang the bell, and a girl admitted me; but it was not Lucy Kingdon, whom I had hoped to see. She showed me into the library, and took my card. She must have met her mistress in the hall, for it was only a moment before the rustle of approaching skirts announced her. As she entered, I noticed with a quick leap of the heart that she held crushed in her hand a sheet of yellow paper. "Good-morning, Mr. Lester," she said, quite composedly, and it was evident that she had entirely conquered the agitation which had racked her the evening before. "Sit down, please," and she herself sank into a chair. "I've been thinking over what you said to me yesterday afternoon," she continued, "and I believe that you were right. Mr. Curtiss unquestionably has the right to know what it is that takes his promised wife away from him, and to decide if he shall permit it to take her away forever." "Then it's not _impossible_ that she should be his wife?" I questioned quickly. "Your daughter was mistaken?"