“E.  T.”

“Ermentrude Taylor,” declared the inexorable voice.  “And written by herself.  Here is her signature which I have obtained; and here is his.  Compare them at your leisure with their initials inscribed according to the date there, sixteen years or more ago.  Now where were these two—­this man and this woman—­at the time just designated?  Alone, or together?  Let us see if we can find out,” pursued the detective with a quiet ignoring of the effect he had produced, which revealed him as the master of a situation probably as difficult and disconcerting as the three officials hanging in manifest anxiety upon his words had ever been called upon to face.  “Mr. Roberts was in Switzerland, as his housekeeper will be obliged to admit on oath, she being an honest woman and a domestic in his mother’s house at the time.  And Ermentrude Taylor!  I have a witness to prove where she was also!  A witness I should be glad to have you interrogate.  Here is her name and address.”  And he slipped a small scrap of paper into the District Attorney’s hand.  “What she will say is this, for I think I have very thoroughly sounded her:  First, that she is Mrs. Taylor’s most intimate friend.  This is conceded by all who know her.  Secondly, that while her intimacy does not extend back to their girlhood days—­Mrs. Taylor being an Englishwoman by birth and remarkably reticent as to her former life and experiences—­she has one story to tell of that time which answers the question I have given you.  She got it from Mrs. Taylor herself, and in this manner.  They were engaged in talking one day about our Western mountains and the grandeur of scenery generally, when Mrs. Taylor let fall some remark about the Alps, which led this friend of hers to ask if she had ever seen them.  Mrs. Taylor answered in the affirmative, but with such embarrassment and abrupt change of subject that it was plainly apparent she had no wish to discuss it.  Indeed, her abruptness was so marked and her show of trouble so great, she was herself disturbed by what might very easily give offense, and being of a kindly, even loving disposition, took occasion when next they met to explain that it was as a girl she had visited Switzerland, and that her experiences there had been so unfortunate that any allusion which recalled those days distressed her.  This is all that ever passed between these two on this subject, but is it not enough when we read this couplet, and mark the combined initials, and recognize them as those of Carleton Roberts and Ermentrude Taylor?  But lest you should doubt even this evidence of an old-time friendship so intimate that it has almost the look of a betrothal, I must add one more item of corroborative fact which came to me as late as last night.  In a moment of partial consciousness, while the nurse hung over her bed, Mrs. Taylor spoke her first coherent sentence since she fell into a state demanding medical assistance.  And what was that sentence?  A repetition of this couplet, gentlemen, spoken not once but over and over again, till even the nurse grew tired of listening to it.