“MY DEAR CHILD: A few hours ago I learned of your existence, and in seeking to make reparation for the wrong done you years ago do not waste any time in cold formality, but at once sit down to make my confession, ask your forgiveness, and offer you the home that should have been yours these many years past. “That your mother is not with you I know, but whether because she is dead is knowledge not in my possession. If she has told you the history of her past, then you will understand and be able to read between the lines of the few words that I shall transmit to paper; if she has not told you of it, then I will do so fully when we meet. I would come to you personally, only I feel that I have so deeply wronged you that I have not the right to come into your presence until you shall know all the circumstances and accord me that privilege. “In a fit of jealous rage, without foundation in reason, I drove your mother from me, and she took you with her. I wronged her cruelly, I confess, and I would not blame either you or her if I am denied forgiveness, and yet I cannot but feel that I am entitled to it, for if ever man repented an action I have repented that one, and have for years been searching for you both that I might be able to repair in part the harm I brought on you. “If you feel that you can forgive me, come to me at my house and permit me to devote the remainder of my life to you. “Your distressed father, “HILTON FIELD.” When the detective had read it through, he said: “Have you any other letter written by Mr. Field?” “I have.” “With you?” “Yes.” “Will you let me see it?” “Certainly.” Barnes felt in his pocket and presently produced a letter that had been written him to make inquiry in regard to some matter that he had been attending to for Mr. Field. Nick Carter scrutinized this closely. “You know positively that Mr. Field wrote this?” “I do.” “Was Mr. Field a methodical man?” “He was.” “Where did he usually do his writing?” “In his library upstairs.” “At the desk there?” “Yes.” “I should imagine that he was very particular in regard to the kind of a pen he used.” Barnes turned on the detective a look of astonishment. “Heavens! to hear you speak one would think you had known the man. If I had not seen this day some very remarkable things done and proved by you, I should certainly believe that you were helped by some supernatural agency.” Nick smiled, and said: “All of which I may take as verifying what I said about his being a very particular man about his pens.” “You may so take it. Nothing would make him so cranky as to find that anybody had made use of his pens.” “He used a quill pen, I take it?” “He did.” “Did you ever know of his using a steel one?” “No. He would not have one around.” “You don’t think, then, that a search would show one in his desk?”