So far he had progressed fairly well with the case, though he had not secured any information which would throw light on the mystery. The murdered man’s identity was established and Carter had learned something about his history. But that was not much. Who could have committed the crime? Was Lawrence murdered by a common thief or by one who was afraid of him and desired to put him out of the way? Carter asked himself these questions. He was not prepared to answer either one of them. He had discovered no clew. He had learned nothing upon which he could base a theory. Leaving the cashier’s house, he dismissed the cabman, and, hailing a taxicab, rode home, where he went to his study and sat down to smoke and think. It was now evening. He had not wasted a moment since early in the morning, but he was not satisfied with his work. He had looked through the directory and had not been able to find in it the name of the man who had been instrumental in sending Lawrence to State’s prison. Did he have any suspicion that that man could have anything to do with the murder? If he did not, then why was he so anxious to find out what had become of that man? He wished he had a more accurate description of the man who had entered the barroom of the Red Dragon Inn after Lawrence. “That man may know nothing,” he muttered as he thought about him, “but, nevertheless, I should like to find him. “Who is he? “What was he doing in the inn? “Did he simply step in to get a drink, or did he follow Lawrence in? “I’m puzzled.” The detective arose from his chair and commenced to pace back and forth across the room. All the time he puffed away vigorously on his cigar and blew the smoke out in a long stream. Whenever he was annoyed about anything he always smoked in this way. He was so deep in thought that he did not hear a knock on the door until the person without had knocked several times. Carter halted in the center of the room and called out: “Come in.” The door was opened by Nick’s butler and Peter Wright entered the room. At a glance the detective saw he was excited. “I’m glad you are in, Mr. Carter,” Wright ejaculated, as he sank down in a chair. He was puffing and blowing from exertion, and it was several minutes before he became composed. He mopped his brow with a large red bandanna and laid his hat down on the floor by the side of his chair. “It was a peculiar experience,” he ejaculated, looking at the detective, “very peculiar--very peculiar----” Mr. Wright had a rapid way of speaking when he was excited, and he had a habit of repeating certain words and phrases to emphasize what he said. “It was deucedly peculiar,” he repeated, after a slight pause. Carter could not help smiling as he said: “Mr. Wright, you forget that I know nothing about it.” “That’s so--confound it! I am so excited I can hardly collect my thoughts. But it was a deucedly peculiar experience, all the same,” he replied. “Tell me all about it.”