She led us into an old-fashioned parlor of the sort I had not seen for years. The haircloth furniture was of a beautiful design, and the old prints upon the wall took me back to my boyhood days in New England. Motioning us to a chair, she seated herself, with a very anxious look upon her face. Then, without waiting for the chief to tell his errand, she asked in a trembling voice: “I hope you have not heard anything bad about Florence?” The chief shook his head. “No, Mrs. West,” he replied. “I don't know anything bad about her. But I wanted to ask you some questions. You see we don't know where Florence is, and so far I can't find any one who does. Now, did she come to your house yesterday afternoon?” The woman was rocking back and forth in her chair. When she answered, I could tell she was worried. “No,” came the reply. “I have not seen her for several days. You know when she got that position with Mr. Warren, she had to stay at his house. She said he often had her work at night, and it was too far to come back here. She did run in every day or so, but I have not seen her for at least three days. And then—” she paused as if shocked by what she was going to add, then said: “And then I heard about her saying that Mr. Warren ought to be killed.” The face of the old lady was flushed, but the expression was more one of perplexity than anything else. Her eyes did not leave the chief's face. “You know, of course, that, though Florence was a very impulsive girl, she was a good girl,” she added proudly. The chief nodded, and the aunt continued: “Now I thought Florence just said that—that about Mr. Warren being killed, because she was mad over something. She would not have meant it, would she?” Her eyes met the chief's imploringly. He shifted his heavy weight and then with a sheepish expression remarked: “No—but then, Mrs. West, why did she take her suit case and say she was not coming back? Where did she go? That's what I want to know.” To this the woman could give no reply. There was no doubt she was very much puzzled over what had happened to her niece. But at the same time she was sure the girl was all right. As to any place that she might have gone, she did not know. She added that her niece was a girl who did not go out, as she put it, very much, and that she had no idea where she might be. We were just on the verge of leaving when I asked her if she knew of any young man she went around with. Her reply was that Florence did not care much for young men; but in a moment she mentioned a Robert Hunt with whom she once in a while went to dances. At the name I shot a glance at the chief to see if he knew the man. He nodded. “I know him. That's the young man who is studying law in Judge Thompson's law office. A fine young fellow.”