"Want to go along? Why, Richard, I'm just dying for a trip to New York. I haven't been there since before Christmas, as you know, and I've got to get a spring outfit. Of course I'm going." She went gayly toward the hall stairs. "Then you must be ready right after lunch," he called after her. "But why so soon, if we are taking the sleeper?" "Because we are going up to town this afternoon and see a few moving pictures." "Moving pictures?" Grace paused at the door, an expression of the utmost astonishment upon her face. "Why, Dick, you never go to moving pictures. You've always said they didn't interest you." "We're going, just the same." "What's come over you?" Grace asked. "Nothing. I'm curious to see some of them, that's all. Never too old to learn, you know. If I am not mistaken, I saw a new feature film advertised in the newspaper this morning." He took a paper from the desk and glanced through it. "Here it is. Ruth Morton, in _The Miser's Daughter_. Have you seen it?" "No. But I've seen Miss Morton often--in pictures, I mean. She's a lovely creature, and a splendid actress, too." "Then this film ought to be a good one, don't you think?" Grace burst into a rippling laugh. "You're getting positively human, Richard," she exclaimed. "Here I've been telling you for months past what a lot you've been missing, and you only made fun of me, and now you actually suggest going yourself. Was the lady who called interested in the motion picture business?" Duvall laughed, but made no reply. "What's the mystery?" Grace went on, with an amused smile. "You haven't told me, you know. Has she lost her jewels, or only her husband?" Duvall raised his hand. "No questions, my dear. This is a professional matter. But I don't mind telling you this much, if I ever become a motion picture 'fan,' you'll have her to thank for it." "Really. Then I'm glad she came. I hate going alone. And it seems I shall also have to thank her for a trip to New York. She has my eternal gratitude. Now I'm going up to pack." Duvall resumed his seat, and once more took up his examination of the letters Mrs. Morton had left with him, but they told him little. There were the usual individual peculiarities in the typewritten characters, but that was about all he could discover. The letter paper, while of excellent quality, was such as might be bought at any first-class stationery store. The death's head seal, of course, was highly individual, but to trace anyone by means of it presented almost insuperable difficulties. To find the seal, one must of necessity first find its owner, and then the chase would be over. He replaced the letters in his pocket book, and went to his room to make ready for their journey. CHAPTER IV