Yet this latter fact was not damaging. To his knowledge, North had in no way acted, up at Headland Harbor, in any way unbecoming a widower. He had not been called upon to relate his private or personal history, and if he had sought diversion among the summer colony of artists and dilettantes, he had, of course, a right to do so. Yet, the whole effect of the man was suspicious to Wise. He told himself it was prejudice, that there was no real evidence against him,—that—but, he then thought, if North was a blameless, undistinguished private citizen, why, in heaven’s name would anybody want to kidnap him? This he answered to himself by saying North might have learned some secret of the kidnappers or of the secret entrance that made it imperative for the criminals to do away with him. This might also explain the death of the maid, Martha. Yet, through it all, Wise believed that North was in wrong. How or to what extent he didn’t know, but North must be found. So to the various under-takers’ establishments he went until at last he found the one who had had charge of the obsequies of Mrs Lawrence North. That was a red letter day in the life of Pennington Wise. For, though he gained no knowledge there of his elusive quarry, he did learn the name and former dwelling place of the woman North married. She had been, he discovered, a widow, and had been born in Vermont. Her name when she married North was Mrs Curtis, and they had been married about ten years ago. This, while not an astounding revelation was of interest and, at least promised a further knowledge of North’s matrimonial affairs. The town in Vermont was Greenvale, a small village Wise discovered, up in the northern part of the state. It was a long trip, but the detective concluded that this case on which he was engaged was a case of magnificent distances and he at once made his railroad reservations and bought his tickets. Meantime the household at Headland House had been thrown into a new spasm of excitement by the receipt of a letter from a stranger. It was addressed to Mrs Varian, and was of a totally different character from the frequent missives she received telling of girls who looked like the pictures of the advertised lost one. This was a well written, straightforward message that carried conviction by its very curtness. It ran: Mrs Varian, Dear Madam: