As they entered the room both looking somewhat mystified, the heiress sprang to her feet, and an angry flush suffused her face as she murmured: “This is too much!” But in a moment she recovered her presence of mind, and haughtily addressed Mr Gilbertson: “I see you have brought your intended with you. But don’t you think you might have been off with the old love before you were on with the new?” I am not sure who was the more astonished at this outburst, Miss Rankin herself, or the man whom she addressed. He, too, looked angry, and, bowing with studied politeness, replied, “There seems to be some mistake here. We have evidently come to the wrong house, and will wish you good evening.” “Mr Gilbertson!” announced the butler, and, lo! the mystery was explained. There were two Romeos in the field, and Miss Rankin saw at a glance how the mistake had arisen. The two men were actually twin brothers, and had been estranged for some time through an unjust will which had left the presumably younger son penniless, while the other had a large income. Wounded to the quick, Harold declined his brother’s friendly offers, and sought to make a name for himself in the world of letters. I had discovered, on following the music-teacher’s admirer to his residence, that his Christian name was Gilbert, not Harold, and had arrived at a correct conclusion as to their relationship. My next proceeding was to plan a meeting of all the parties, feeling sure that it could have none but good results, and I requested the attendance of Mr Gilbert Gilbertson and Miss Hanson at Albert-gate Mansions, “to meet Mr Harold Gilbertson and his fiancée.” As I expected, they did not fail to put in a punctual appearance, with the result that there was happiness and reconciliation all round. Both weddings came off some time ago, and I hear that Miss Evelyn Hanson has become engaged to a very nice American, who is a millionaire – in dollars. X. The Path to Fame There are many experiences which fall to the lot of a detective that call forth for very little of the skill with which detectives are popularly supposed to be endowed, but which it would be a pity not to record, inasmuch as they sometimes probe the depths of pathos. Of such a nature was my encounter with an actress, whose name was once on everybody’s tongue, but whose fame and popularity had declined with her beauty, until at last she found herself on the borderland of destitution and starvation. I found her dying in St. George’s Hospital, whither I had gone to receive important information from the occupant of the next bed to hers. Her big, wistful eyes enlisted my sympathy, and the nurse fanned it by telling me as much as she knew about the poor soul, whose only prayer now was that she might die soon.