"No," Sturgis answered, thoughtfully, "but I am trying to attach some ulterior significance to the facts. There is certainly something mysterious about Dr. Henderson and the Manhattan Chemical Company; but whether the mystery is legitimate or not, and if not, whether it is in any way connected with the Arbogast case, is more than I am at present able to determine." After a short pause he continued: "When I found that there was no chance of seeing Dr. Henderson himself, I inquired at a venture for the manager. For an instant a puzzled look lent expression to the otherwise vacuous features of the young man. Then a sudden inspiration seemed to come to him. 'Oh! ah! yes,' he exclaimed, 'you mean Mr. Smith.' 'Yes,' said I, catching at the straw. 'Well, but Mr. Smith is not in either.' I offered to wait for Mr. Smith, and started toward the door of the private office in the rear, because it bore in prominent letters the inscription, 'NO ADMITTANCE.' I had turned the knob before the clerk could stop me; but the door was locked. Mr. Smith, it seems, comes to the office only once a week to receive the clerk's report and to pay him his salary. I tried to make a special appointment to meet Mr. Smith, on the plea of important business. I left a fictitious name and address so that Mr. Smith's answer might be sent to me. That was all I was able to do for the time being; but I thought it worth while to keep an eye open on the Manhattan Chemical Company; so I have engaged private detectives to watch it for me night and day until further notice. And there the matter stands." Dunlap rose wearily from his chair. He looked anxious and care-worn. "Mr. Sturgis," he said, "if you can find any part of that two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, a good share of whatever you can recover for the bank is yours." The reporter flushed and bit his lip; but he answered quietly: "You mistake me for a detective, Mr. Dunlap; I am only a reporter. I shall be paid by the _Tempest_ for any work I may do on this case. You would better offer your reward to the police." CHAPTER XIV. THE LETTER. There is a magic in the refreshing sleep of youth, calculated to exorcise the megrims. When Sprague, arising after a good night's rest, found the world bathed in the sunshine of a crisp January day, he felt the physical pleasure of living which comes from supple muscles, from the coursing of a generous blood through the veins, from the cravings of a healthy appetite.