He made some cautious inquiries among the neighbors, and he found that the beautiful young girl was a governess in the family of a young lawyer who occupied the cottage. His wife was an invalid, and had employed the young girl to fill the position of nursery governess to her five tow-headed boys, "the worst limbs in the whole neighborhood," averred the gossiping neighbors. The new governess Daisy Lynn, as she called herself, had only been there three weeks, they said, and they were sure she would not stay the month out. No one could endure that Perkins tribe more than a month. The oldest boy was twelve, the youngest only four. "But," said the grocery man at the corner, "from the biggest to the littlest, they are all imps of Satan!" "But why did the girl come here? why does she stay? Evidently she is here of her own free will," thought the puzzled detective. He made up his mind to a bold procedure: he would go and see the girl. He rang the bell at the door, and a slatternly negro girl opened it and started at the elegant-looking caller with his shiny hat. "I want to see Miss Lynn," he said; and she showed him into the little parlor, and went to call the governess. He did not have to wait long before the face he had seen at the window appeared within the room--such a beautiful face, but, oh! so pale and frightened, the sweet lips trembling as she said, nervously: "I--I don't know you, sir." "But I know you, Miss Carew," he replied, as he rose and bowed. "Miss Carew!" She caught eagerly at the words. "Oh, I knew you were mistaken! That is not my name, sir." Jack Wren laughed lightly and drew the photograph from his pocket. "Is not that your face?" he asked. The lovely girl started with surprise. "Oh, dear! it does look like me; but I never had my photograph taken in my life!" she exclaimed. The detective smiled unbelievingly. "You are a very clever young girl, but I do not understand your game," he said, bluntly. "Why have you run away from your friends and your bright prospects, Miss Carew, to masquerade under a false name and wear out your life teaching the rough Perkins cubs?" She trembled and grew deathly pale as she faltered: "There is--there must be--some mistake. My name is really Daisy Lynn, and I--I have not--I have no friends and no bright prospects, except to earn my own living by unremitting toil." Tears came into the dark eyes as she spoke. The great Southern detective looked at her with puzzled eyes. "What superb acting!" he thought, admiringly. "But, what the deuce is the matter with the girl, to make her hide herself in this way from her friends?" "Perhaps you do not know who I am?" he said; and he held before her eyes a card on which was neatly engraved his name and profession. "I--I have heard of you, Mr. Wren!" gasped Daisy Lynn. She sunk into a chair, and put her small white hand before her eyes, as if to shut out some dreadful sight, her bosom heaving with frightened sobs.