The real Anna Katharine Green is a terrible mystery. We do not mean Mrs. Charles Rohlfs of 156 Park Street, Buffalo, whose husband is an expert maker of fine furniture and who wrote _Initials Only_ and _The Leavenworth Case_. We mean the Anna Katharine Green Mind, a Mind no longer young counted by years, a Mind as subtle and powerful and clever as ever, counted by achievement. Read _The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow_, published at the close of 1917, if you doubt that Mind’s unabated mastery. Anna Katharine Green--but hush! What awe-inspiring quality invests the mere whisper of that name? Why do cold shivers run up and down our backs? Why in our commonplace surroundings--porch, porch chairs, typewriter, manuscript--why, why do we chill all over? Why do the thrills in dots and dashes like a hurrying Morse code torture our nerves? We will tell you. It is because last night we opened a book and read: I WHERE IS BELA? “A high and narrow gate of carefully joined boards, standing ajar in a fence of the same construction! What is there in this to rouse a whole neighborhood and collect before it a group of eager, anxious, hesitating people? “I will tell you. “This fence is no ordinary fence, and this gate no ordinary gate; nor is the fact of the latter standing a trifle open, one to be lightly regarded or taken an inconsiderate advantage of. For this is Judge Ostrander’s place....” We read. And we read. The others retired for the night. The pale moon swam slowly through the heavens, regarding us with a calm, cold indifference. The town clock boomed midnight, then one, then two. Fatality hung in the air. Horror coursed in the veins and the blood ceased to pulse through the arteries. Occasionally a ripened apple dropped from the nearby tree to the ground. At the thud we jumped. But we could not stop until, on page 381, the last of _Dark Hollow_, we had read the solemn words: “Peace for him; and for Reuther and Oliver, hope!” Then we crept off to bed. Utter exhaustion of all sensation brought swift sleep.... It must have been about a third of the way through that the conviction stole over us of Judge Ostrander’s guilt. Who murdered Algernon Etheridge in Dark Hollow? Did John Scoville, executed for the crime? Did--shuddering thought--young Oliver Ostrander slay that friend of his father’s whom he hated so? Neither ... neither! Then who? Why, the unlikeliest person in the book, of course, and trust Anna Katharine Green to make it plausible!