But when he left the house he did not go at once to his office. He stopped at the first drug store he passed, and walked up to the little stand on which the city directory was kept. He turned the pages to D, and then looked up Darley. There were several of the name, and a frown contracted his brow. But he took out his pencil and memorandum book, and made a note of the various addresses. Then he went on, but soon turned into a street that would not take him to the office. He boarded a car and rode off in the direction of South street. In the course of twenty minutes he was waiting for his ring to be answered at the door of a very modest little house near the Baltimore tracks. But after he had been admitted, he did not remain long inside. “I must try another,” he muttered, consulting his memorandum. He tried several others, but with equal ill success. The quest seemed hopeless. “There may be nothing in it after all,” he murmured. “But that does not lighten my load here;” and he pressed his hand over his heart. All that day he kept up his hunt, scarcely stopping to get a little lunch at noon. Toward nightfall he called at an address on Seventh Street next to the last on his list. It was an odd looking house—apparently a store, for there was a regular shop window, but there was nothing in it but curtains that screened off the interior, and no sign, and the door when he tried it, was locked. But there was a bell handle close beside it, and this he pulled. The door was opened after quite an interval, to a mere crack, and the voice of an aged woman wanted to know who was there. “A gentleman to see Mr. David Darley,” Sydney answered. “You can’t see him,” came back the reply, “He’s been dead these five months.” “Well, then,” went on Sydney, pushing against the door to prevent any possibility of its being shut in his face, “I want to see some of his relations—his wife, or daughter, or somebody.” “There ain’t any of them either,” was the reply. “There’s only me.” “Well, then, I’d like to see you,” Sydney rejoined, feeling that this, too, was to be a wild goose chase, but determined, nevertheless, to leave no stone unturned. “What do you want to see me about?” went on the old lady. “I don’t know you.” “I just want to ask you some questions about Mr. Darley. Are you any relation of his?” “I’m his mother-in-law,” and the door was slowly opened, but only wide enough to admit Sydney, when it was closed behind him with great rapidity. He looked with some curiosity at the person who admitted him. She was very small, not much above his waist in height, and quite old, with snow white hair and a very peaceful expression of face that contrasted markedly with her evident fear of strangers. She did not ask Sydney to be seated, and remained standing herself, taking up her station in the doorway that led into the room beyond, as if seeking to bar out any intrusion there.