“The will was broken. Lawrence was arrested, tried, convicted, and sent to State’s prison. “Then people forgot all about him.” “What became of Mrs. Lawrence?” asked Carter. “She lived for a time in the Beach Street house. A year after her husband’s conviction the house was closed up and Mrs. Lawrence and her child disappeared. The house has remained closed ever since.” “Then there was a child?” “Yes--a girl--she was about twelve years old at the time.” “What became of Simeon Rich?” “I do not know.” “How was the estate divided?” “That I do not remember.” “Lawrence, you say, was a customer of yours?” “He was, and he was a mighty fine fellow. I always believed he was innocent, notwithstanding the fact that all the evidence was strong against him.” “And you believe that the murdered man is this same Alfred Lawrence?” “I do.” “Is this all the information you can give me, Mr. Wright?” “It is.” “What was the number of the old house on Beach Street in which Lawrence resided?” “I don’t remember, but you can find it easily. It is near Varick Street, and it is the only house on the block that is closed.” “Ah!” “Some one is at the door,” said Peter Wright. Carter arose from his chair and opened the door. The police captain entered the room, followed by a policeman. “Mr. Carter,” he said, “here is one of my men, Officer Pat Maguire; he saw the murdered man last night.” “Did he?” Carter queried, casting a searching glance at Maguire, who replied: “That I did, sir.” “Sit down and tell me all about it.” Pat Maguire took a seat. “This morning,” he said, “I reported at the station house and I heard about the murder. The instant I heard a description of the man read I concluded it was the poor, forlorn, down-and-out old chap with whom I had talked last night while on my beat. “I came around here, took a look at the body, and I saw that it was the old man. Then I instantly told the captain about the conversation I had with him, and he brought me here to see you.” “Tell me about that conversation, Maguire.” Policeman Maguire gave Carter a clear account of the conversation which he had held with the old man and described how he had acted. When he concluded, Mr. Wright ejaculated: “You see, Mr. Carter, that corroborates what I told you. There are no reasonable doubts now about the man being Alfred Lawrence.” “Why did he try to enter that house on Beach Street?” “I cannot tell.” “There is a deep mystery here,” remarked Carter, “one which I intend to solve. Gentlemen, I must leave you. Please keep silent about what you have told me.” Before any one could utter a word, he had slipped out of the room. “A strange man,” the police captain remarked, as soon as Carter was gone. “Why has he left the room without giving any intimation of what he was going to do?” The information which had been imparted to Carter by Mr. Wright and the policeman was important. He was certain now that the murdered man was the ex-convict, Alfred Lawrence.