“There might have been another lover in the case of whom she thought more of than yourself.” Barnes shook his head. “It may have been the case, although I am inclined to doubt it. I never saw a man call on her, and never heard her speak of any save one.” “Who was he?” “I don’t know, as I never saw him.” “But did she not mention his name?” “Yes, I believe she did.” “Do you remember what it was?” After a moment’s reflection Barnes said: “If I recall it correctly it was Demas Lorton.” The detective’s lips compressed. “You are pretty positive that this was the name?” “Quite so.” “You say you never saw this man?” “I have not.” “Perhaps she may have had a picture of him in her abode?” “She did not.” “You know this for a certainty?” “I do.” “How is it?” “Why, it so chanced that one day when she was speaking of him I inquired if she did not have a picture of him. She said that she had not, and that he would never have one taken.” “Do you know how it came about that she knew him?” “Yes.” “Will you repeat what she told you?” “There is not much to tell. He met her at a time when she was in difficulty, and was very kind to her. She always thought a great deal of him.” “What was the nature of the feeling she entertained for him--gratitude or love?” At that Barnes gave a start. He was not in the slightest degree of a jealous character, and when refused by Miss Doane he had not in any wise attributed his rejection to a love entertained by her for this man. But, now that the idea was suggested by the detective’s words, he recalled many things that she had said of him, recalled that when speaking of him her eyes had grown luminous, recalled and looked upon in a new light a thousand things that at the time had produced on him little, if any, impression. In a lowered voice, he said: “To answer that question with any degree of accuracy would be impossible. At the time I certainly thought she entertained for him no stronger feeling than gratitude, although at this minute I cannot be so sure of it.” “The chances are, however, that she does entertain for him the stronger feeling of the two. Does not your common sense tell you this is true?” “It does--and Heaven knows how much against my will.” The detective paused on the point of saying something to Barnes. “I guess it will be as well not to say anything, for nine chances out of ten he would give the thing away in his manner, and defeat the object I have in view. It will be as well to let him go on for a couple of days longer thinking of her as a good, true, pure woman, instead of being in all probability the wife of one of the worst scoundrels now unhung,” Nick soliloquized. The name of Demas Lorton meant something more to the detective than it did to Barnes. He was on the point of departing when Barnes said something to him about the letters.