"You mustn't leave me in this unsettled state, Archie," said Letitia nervously. "I couldn't stand it, dear. I--I feel quite upset. We must look through the papers and see if anything has happened to Anna. And perhaps it would be a good thing to notify the authorities. Who are the authorities, in a case like this, Archie? Not the mayor, I suppose, or the aldermen; not--er--the coroner?" "Police headquarters, I should say"--a little doubtfully. "Of course, she may come in at any moment," Letitia suggested, glancing rather timidly over her left shoulder. "I quite dread it. Perhaps she will return with a battered face, or bleeding profusely from a wound. It would be annoying to notify--er--the--Policeman's Home, did you say?--until we are reasonably sure. There must be some penalty for uttering false alarms. Sit down, Archie, and I'll just run through the papers." I began to realize that Letitia was veritably wrought up, and that it was no use contemplating my routine at the office until some light had been shed upon the seemingly untimely fate of Miss Carter. So I obeyed Letitia and sat down, while she, somewhat feverishly, took up the morning papers and plunged into their labyrinthine recesses. "'Girl decapitated by Trolley Car,'" she read slowly. "Let us see now: 'The sight seemed to infuriate the mob--car struck her in the left leg--beautiful blonde.' That settles it, doesn't it? It couldn't be Anna. The papers will certainly call her singularly beautiful, but no reporter, whatever his political or religious conviction, could describe her as a blonde. Ah, here we are. This certainly seems to fit: 'Woman Drops Dead in L Station--Sitting bolt upright in an elevated railroad station in Brooklyn, a woman whose identity had not been discovered by the police last night'--Archie, put on your things, and go to Brooklyn." "Is there nothing more, Letitia?" I asked, for I loathe Brooklyn. She continued, moistening her lips: "'The surgeons unable to revive her--Coma followed by death--Very handsome, elegantly dressed woman, golden hair--' Well, evidently," said Letitia, and it really seemed to me as though she were disappointed, "it can't be Anna. You had better not go to Brooklyn, after all, Archie. Here's something else. Really the newspapers are full of clues. 'Idiot Girl Found Wandering By River--'" "Read on, Letitia," I cried, "that certainly does sound promising."