Morris, regarding him with serious, puzzled eyes, put his hand into an inner pocket and drew out a leather case. Silently he opened it, extracted a letter and handed it to Peter, intently watching the face of the young detective. Peter looked at the letter long and earnestly. He read it through carefully, from the folded page at the beginning to the end. Neither of them spoke. In the silence, a low murmur of voices came up to them from the porch beneath, a question in a servant's controlled tone, and a slightly louder answer from Mrs. Atterbury, but neither of the men heard or heeded. Peter folded the letter and handed it back to Donald. "You'd better keep it," he said, slowly. "I'll ask you for it again, later." "Very well," said Donald, carefully replacing the letter. "And now, tell me, Clancy, for God's sake, what it was you discovered at Hobart Falls?" "Well," said Peter, deliberately, "it wasn't so much, you may say. But there's one thing I know you will be interested to learn: I have found out positively what Miss Blake's own name really is." "Her own name?" repeated Morris. "And in such an unlikely place?" "Yes," answered Peter. "It does seem strange, but I can assure you that I'm correct. Her name is Curwood." "Curwood," Donald echoed. "Curwood." "Yes," said Peter. "That's the name. I verified it carefully, and you may be sure----" Suddenly he started violently, and his hand shot up in a warning gesture. He leaned close to Morris, and whispered in his ear: "What----Who is that?" A voice had come up to them from the porch below. What it said was commonplace to a degree. Donald could see no possible reason for the detective's evident excitement. "Good morning, Helena, dear," the voice said. "I'm so glad you're here once more. I only just heard----" There was the sound of a chair scraping on the tiled floor, and Mrs. Atterbury said something in a cordial tone. "Who is it?" Peter repeated, insistently. "Who is that down there?" "Why," said Morris, looking at Peter in astonishment, "why, that must be Aunt Kate. Nobody else has a voice like that," and he shook his head with a whimsical half smile. "What in the world----" "Speak low," said Peter, anxiously. "I don't want to miss----" Again the voice came up to them: "Did Donald come up with you, Helena? I saw that thing in the paper, and somebody told me----" Followed a low murmur in reply from Mrs. Atterbury. "Who is it?" Peter asked again, excitement apparent in every line of his face. "A relative? What is her name? Her full name?" "No, not a relative," Donald answered, bewildered by Peter's obvious agitation. "We've always called her that. Her name is Rutherford, Kate Rutherford." "Good God!" said Peter, starting to his feet. "Rutherford!" Under his breath he whispered to himself--"The voice! The voice over the wire. I'm sure, certain. There can be no mistake. I knew I'd recognize it if ever----"