Mr. Playmore wrote to appeal confidentially to Benjamin as a commercial man. In the long course of his occupation in business, it was just possible that he might have heard of cases in which documents have been put together again after having been torn up by design or by accident. Even if his experience failed in this particular, he might be able to refer to some authority in London who would be capable of giving an opinion on the subject. By way of explaining his strange request, Mr. Playmore reverted to the notes which Benjamin had taken at Miserrimus Dexter’s house, and informed him of the serious importance of “the gibberish” which he had reported under protest. The letter closed by recommending that any correspondence which ensued should be kept a secret from me--on the ground that it might excite false hopes in my mind if I were informed of it. I now understood the tone which my worthy adviser had adopted in writing to me. His interest in the recovery of the letter was evidently so overpowering that common prudence compelled him to conceal it from me, in case of ultimate failure. This did not look as if Mr. Playmore was likely to give up the investigation on my withdrawal from it. I glanced again at the fragments of paper on Benjamin’s table, with an interest in them which I had not felt yet. “Has anything been found at Gleninch?” I asked. “No,” said Benjamin. “I have only been trying experiments with a letter of my own, before I wrote to Mr. Playmore.” “Oh, you have torn up the letter yourself, then?” “Yes. And, to make it all the more difficult to put them together again, I shook up the pieces in a basket. It’s a childish thing to do, my dear, at my age--” He stopped, looking very much ashamed of himself. “Well,” I went on; “and have you succeeded in putting your letter together again?” “It’s not very easy, Valeria. But I have made a beginning. It’s the same principle as the principle in the ‘Puzzles’ which we used to put together when I was a boy. Only get one central bit of it right, and the rest of the Puzzle falls into its place in a longer or a shorter time. Please don’t tell anybody, my dear. People might say I was in my dotage. To think of that gibberish in my note-book having a meaning in it, after all! I only got Mr. Playmore’s letter this morning; and--I am really almost ashamed to mention it--I have been trying experiments on torn letters, off and on, ever since. You won’t tell upon me, will you?” I answered the dear old man by a hearty embrace. Now that he had lost his steady moral balance, and had caught the infection of my enthusiasm, I loved him better than ever.