“‘It was a year ago come next month that I lent him the money,’ my informant continued.  He pocketed it, hurried out, and that is the last I have ever seen or heard of him.  Shouldn’t wonder if he’d blown his brains out long ago.  He used to have a mighty desperate look at times.  He was one of them Monte Carlo fellers, I reckon.’

“That’s all I have been able to learn thus far.  It isn’t very much, but it shows we are on the right track.  By the way, Doc, I’m going to change that ad to-morrow, offering treatment by letter.  Perhaps our man is too shy to apply in person.  At all events we’ll give the other method a trial.”

CHAPTER III

When we least expect it the Ideal meets us in the street of the Commonplace and locks arms with us.  Nevermore shall we choose our paths uninfluenced.  A new leaven has entered our personality to dominate and direct it.

The new advertisement duly appeared and on the next day, which was Wednesday—­I remember it because it was my hospital day—­I received several written answers, and among them, one in which I felt confident I recognised the peculiar z*’s and r*’s of Weltz and Rizzi.

I took it at once to Maitland.  He glanced at it a moment and then impulsively grasped my hand.  “By Jove, Doc!” he exclaimed, “if this crafty fox doesn’t scent the hound, we shall soon run him to earth.  You see he has given no address and signs a new name.  We are to write to Carl Cazenove, General Delivery, Boston.  Good! we will do so at once, and I will then arrange with the postal authorities to notify me when they deliver the letter.  Of course this will necessitate a continuous watch, perhaps for several days, of the general delivery window.  It is hardly likely our crafty friend will himself call for the letter, so it will be imperative that someone be constantly on hand to shadow whomsoever he may send as a substitute.  May I depend on your assistance in this matter?”

“I will stand by you till we see the thing through,” I said, “though I have to live in the Post Office a month.”

Well, I wrote and mailed the decoy letter and Maitland explained the situation to the postal authorities, who furnished us a comfortable place inside and near the general delivery window.  They promised to notify us when anyone called for our letter.  Our vigil was not a very long one.  On Thursday afternoon the postal clerk signalled to us that Carl Cazenove’s mail had been asked for, and, while he was consuming as much time as possible in finding our letter, Maitland and I quietly stepped out into the corridor.  The sight that met our gaze was one for which we had not been at all prepared.  There at the window stood a beautiful young girl just on the verge of womanhood.  Her frank blue eyes met mine with the utmost candour as I passed by her so that she should be between Maitland and me,