The latest city directory gave Elmer Harkness as living at 2313 Wesson Street, which certainly was his address at the time the directory was issued. So much Murray had looked up before. Now, further to satisfy himself, he went through all the directories for the interval between the two years, and he was rewarded by finding the name of Elmer Harkness twice in one of them. Both were clerks, the addresses of the employers not being given, and the residence of one of them was put down as the address of the Harkness who had secured insurance. “Then there are, or at least there were, two,” thought Murray, “but only one came from Madison. And what has become of the missing Harkness? Why is he in only one directory? The fact that there were two helps to clear up the record of the one I insured, so far as that Wabash Avenue address is concerned, but how did both happen to give the same place and date of birth? And did both have heart trouble?” Murray straightened up suddenly and sent for the clerk who had made the previous inquiries for him. “Harry,” he said, “I want you to go to the funeral of Elmer Harkness to-morrow. Go early, and get a look at him, if possible. If not, get a description of him from some of the neighbors.” Murray reproached himself for not having searched all the directories before, although it would have made little difference. The fact that another Harkness had lived in Chicago would have had no bearing on the case, so long as the record of the one who applied for insurance was clear. In fact, it would have explained everything, except the coincidence of the alleged birth records. Still, it would have given a new line of investigation, which might have cleared up the mystery. Harry reported promptly the next day, and almost his first words aroused Murray. “I couldn’t get a glimpse of the late lamented,” he said flippantly, “for the casket was closed, but I learned that he had hair slightly tinged with gray and—” “Gray!” exclaimed Murray. “Does a man get gray hair in six months? The man we insured hadn’t a gray hair in his head.” “He was rather stout—” “Our man was not.” “I couldn’t learn much else—” “You’ve learned enough.” “—except that when he was stricken his wife’s first thought seemed to be to get a message to some mysterious man, who responded in person, had a short talk with the wife, and then disappeared. A neighbor who had come in was somewhat impressed by this, because she called him ‘Elmer,’ which was her husband’s name.” “What!” cried Murray, startled out of his usual imperturbability by the evidence thus unexpectedly accumulating. Then, more calmly, “Harry, you didn’t get the address to which she sent, did you?” “The messenger,” said Harry, proud of his success, “was a neighbor’s boy. I found him. Here is the address.” Murray took the slip of paper, looked at the address, and then sent for the company’s physician.