Whatever had brought Trafford to this sudden conclusion, it proved absolutely correct, and the details given of her brilliance and her aid to her husband fitted exactly to the character of the woman. This fact naturally raised the question, was it safe to go farther and, if so, how much farther? Mrs. Matthewson at least had been put on her guard by the published statement, and she was not a woman to remain in ignorance of any steps taken in consequence of that statement, or of the man who took them. The family was powerful and not credited with scrupulosity as to means employed to ends. On the other hand, it was manifest that if there was such an episode in her past, her husband was ignorant of it and she would stop at nothing to keep him so. The secret might be dangerous, but it might be valuable as well. Beyond this, however, was the joy of the chase, which is absent from no man and least of all from the trained detective. There was a problem to solve, and, danger or no danger, it was as impossible for Trafford to refuse to solve it as to refuse to breathe. Whatever use he was or was not to make of it, he would know the truth. He was not, however, so intent upon this one feature of the case as to neglect Jim Shepard. The second day, he slipped over to Portland and found that young countryman at work and exceedingly homesick in what was, to his narrow experience, a great city. Finding that Trafford knew Millbank, he threw his heart open to him and talked as freely as he would to Oldbeg himself. Trafford let him talk. There was a flood of irrelevant matter, but the detective’s experience was too broad for him to decide in advance what might and what might not be valuable. On the whole, however, it was a dreary waste, until he touched on the night he left Millbank. “I wasn’t the only feller,” he said; “that nigh missed that train. Jest as ’twas startin’, a feller rushed out from behind Pettingill’s ’tater storehouse and caught the front end of the car. I thought he was goin’ to miss an’ I swung back to see him drop off; but he clung like a good one an’ finally got his foot on the step. I tell you, he was nigh clean tuckered out when he came into the car, fur he was a swell an’ warn’t used to using his arms that-a-way.” “Queer place for him to come from,” said the other. “Wall, ye see, if he’d come from Somerset Street way an’ out through ’tween Neil’s store and the post-office, he’d ’a’ come out jest thar; but he’d ’a’ had to know the lay o’ the land to done it. Ef he’d ben a stranger, he couldn’t help missing it an’ not half try.” “But you say he was a stranger and a swell,” Trafford suggested. “He was a swell, fast enough. City rig; kid gloves--one on ’em bust, hangin’ on to the rail, and got up in go-to-meetin’ style; but he must ’a’ knowed the way. He’d ben thar before, you bet!” “You seem to have got a pretty good look at him.”