There was one development of the day before which quite baffled me. I had proved that there were, indeed, two women, and I believed them to be mother and daughter, but I could not in the least understand why the younger one had so completely broken down after the departure of the elder with Miss Holladay. I looked at this point from every side, but could find no reasonable explanation of it. It might be, indeed, that the younger one was beginning already to repent her share in the conspiracy--there could be no question that it was she who had struck down Holladay in his office--that she had even refused to go farther in the plot, and that her companions had found it necessary to restrain her; but this seemed to me too exceedingly improbable to believe. And, as I went over the ground again, I found myself beginning more and more to doubt the truth of Godfrey's theory, though I could formulate none to take its place; I became lost in a maze of conjecture, and, at last, I gave it up and went to bed. * * * * * I called for Mr. Royce, as we had agreed, and together we drove down to Morton Street. He, too, had limited his baggage to a single small trunk. We secured a deck-hand to take them into our stateroom, and, after seeing them disposed of, went out on deck to watch the last preparations for departure. The pier was in that state of hurly-burly which may be witnessed only at the sailing of a transatlantic liner. The last of the freight was being got aboard with frantic haste; the boat and pier were crowded with people who had come to bid their friends good-by; two tugs were puffing noisily alongside, ready to pull us out into the stream. My companion appeared quite strong, and seemed to enjoy the bustle and hubbub as much as I did. He flushed with pleasure, as he caught sight of our senior pushing his way toward us. "Why, this is kind of you, sir!" he cried, grasping his hand. "I know what the work of the office must be, with both of us deserting you this way." "Tut, tut!" and Mr. Graham smiled at us. "You deserve a vacation, don't you? I couldn't let you go without telling you good-by. Besides," he added, "I learned just this morning that two very dear friends of mine are taking this boat--Mrs. Kemball and her daughter--the widow of Jim Kemball, you know." Mr. Royce nodded. I, too, recalled the name--Jim Kemball had been one of the best men at the New York bar twenty years before, and must inevitably have made a great name for himself but for his untimely death. I had heard a hundred stories of him.