“If I remember rightly Miss Challoner’s letter to this child was free from all mystery.”

“Quite so.  It is as open as the day.  That is why it has been mentioned as showing the freedom of Miss Challoner’s mind five minutes before that fatal thrust.”

Sweetwater took up the sheet Mr. Gryce pushed towards him and re-read these lines: 

“Dear Little Doris: 

“It is a snowy night, but it is all bright inside and I feel no chill in mind or body.  I hope it is so in the little cottage in Derby; that my little friend is as happy with harsh winds blowing from the mountains as she was on the summer day she came to see me at this hotel.  I like to think of her as cheerful and beaming, rejoicing in tasks which make her so womanly and sweet.  She is often, often in my mind.

“Affectionately your friend,
“Edith A. Challoner.”

“That to a child of sixteen!”

“Just so.”

“D-o-r-i-s spells something besides Doris.”

“Yet there is a Doris.  Remember that O. B. says in one of his letters, ‘Doris is learning to embroider.’”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“So you must first find Doris.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And as Miss Challoner’s letter was directed to Derby, Pennsylvania, you will go to Derby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything more?”

“I’ve been reading this letter again.”

“It’s worth it.”

“The last sentence expresses a hope.”

“That has been noted.”

Sweetwater’s eyes slowly rose till they rested on Mr. Gryce’s face:  “I’ll cling to the thread you’ve given me.  I’ll work myself through the labyrinth before us till I reach him.”

Mr. Gryce smiled; but there was more age, wisdom and sympathy for youthful enthusiasm in that smile than there was confidence or hope.

BOOK III

THE HEART OF MAN

XXIII

DORIS

“A young girl named Doris Scott?”

The station-master looked somewhat sharply at the man he was addressing, and decided to give the direction asked.

“There is but one young girl in town of that name,” he declared, “and she lives in that little house you see just beyond the works.  But let me tell you, stranger,” he went on with some precipitation—­

But here he was called off, and Sweetwater lost the conclusion of his warning, if warning it was meant to be.  This did not trouble the detective.  He stood a moment, taking in the prospect; decided that the Works and the Works alone made the town, and started for the house which had been pointed out to him.  His way lay through the chief business street, and greatly preoccupied by his errand, he gave but a passing glance to the rows on rows of workmen’s dwellings stretching away to the left in seemingly