"As to all this hocus-pocus about the ha'nt, that is easily explained. He needed a scapegoat on whom to turn the blame when the bonds should disappear; so he and this Cat-Eye Mose between them invented a ghost. The negro is a half crazy fellow who from the first has been young Gaylord's tool; I don't think he knew what he was doing sufficiently to be blamed. As for Gaylord himself, I fancy there was a third person somewhere in the background who was pressing him for money and who couldn't be shaken off till the money was forthcoming. But whatever his motive for taking the bonds, there is no doubt about the fact, and I have come to you with the story rather than to his father." "It is absolutely impossible," I returned. "Radnor, whatever his faults, is an honorable man in regard to money matters. I have his word that he knows no more about the robbery of those bonds than I do." The detective laughed. "There is just one kind of evidence that doesn't count for much in my profession, and that is a man's word. We look for something a little more tangible--such as this for example." He drew from his pocket an envelope, took from it a letter, and handed it to me. It was a typewritten communication from a firm of brokers in Washington. "RADNOR F. GAYLORD, Esq., "Four-Pools Plantation, Lambert Corners, Va. "_Dear Mr. Gaylord_: "We are in receipt of your favor of April 29th. in regard to the sale of the bonds. The market is rather slow at present and we shall have to sell at 98¼. If you care to hold on to them a few months longer, there is every chance of the market picking up, and we feel sure that in the end you will find them a good investment. "Awaiting your further orders and thanking you for past favors, "We are, "Very truly yours, "JACOBY, HAIGHT & CO." "Where did you get hold of that?" I asked. "It strikes me it's a private letter." "Very private," the young man agreed. "I had trouble enough in getting hold of it; I had to do some fishing with a hook and pole over the transom of Mr. Gaylord's door. He had very kindly put the tackle at my disposal." "You weren't called down here to open the family's private letters," I said hotly. "I was called down here to find out who stole Colonel Gaylord's bonds, and I've done it." I was silent for a moment. This letter from the brokers staggered me. April twenty-ninth was the date of the robbery, and I could think of no explanation. Clancy, noticing my silence, elaborated his theory with a growing air of triumph.