I found him pacing the little sanctum, scanning a still damp sheet of proof. His brow was furrowed, but the lines were those of conscious power. In the broken chair by the littered desk sat Billy Durgin, his eyes ablaze with the lust of the chase. As I pushed into the dingy little room Solon halted in his walk and, with a flourish that did not entirely lack the dramatic, he handed me the narrow strip of paper. The item was brief. "Mrs. J. Rodney Potts, the estimable wife of Colonel J. Rodney Potts of this town, will arrive here from the East next Thursday to make her home among us." I looked up, to find them eager for my comment. "Is it true?" I asked. "It is," said Solon. "I shall meet the lady on the arrival of the eleven-eight train next Thursday." "Well--what of it?" "We are now about to see 'what of it.' My trusty and fearless young lieutenant here"--he indicated Billy, who coughed in his hand and looked modestly out the window--"is now about to beard Potts in his den and find out 'what of it.' I may say that we hope there will be a good deal of it. I gather as much from the correspondence of the last three weeks with the lady referred to in that simple galley proof, which I set up and pulled with my own hands. In this opinion I am not alone. It is shared by my able and dauntless young coadjutor, before whom I can see a future so brilliant that you need smoked glasses to look at it very long at a time." The gallant young detective turned from the window. "The hour has come to strike our blow," he remarked, his brow contracting to a scowl that boded no good to a certain upright citizen of this great republic. "I have thought it best," resumed Solon, "to take Potts into our confidence at precisely this stage--giving him this exclusive news one day in advance of its publication. To-morrow, when every one knows it, Potts might be rash enough to stay and brave it out. Being advised to-day, privately, and thus afforded a chance to fade gracefully into the great bounding West, he may use his common sense. Now then, officer, do your duty!" Our hero arose from his chair, buttoned his coat, passed a hand caressingly over his hip pocket, took the proof from me, and stalked grimly out. "So the lady is really coming?" I asked, as Billy's footsteps died away down the wooden stairs. "She is, the lady and her little son," said Solon, resuming his walk up and down the room. "She is coming all the way from Boston, Massachusetts. And I don't believe she quite knows what she's coming to. She speaks in a strange manner of her hope that she may be able to do good among us, and in her last letter she wants to know if I have ever seen a little book called 'One Hundred Common Errors in Speaking and Writing.' She seems to have the missionary instinct, as nearly as I can judge." He paused in his walk and lowered his voice impressively.