“It’s all down in my private shorthand book,” said Josie O’Gorman, “but I’ve never dared make a clear copy while Nan was so near me.  You can’t read it, Dad, and I can’t read it to you in the dark; so you’ll have to wait.”

“Have you your notebook here?”

“Always carry it.”

He drew an electric storage-lamp from his pocket and shielded the tiny circle of light with his coat.

“Now, then,” said he, “read the letter to me, Josie.  It’s impossible for anyone to see the light from the house.”

The girl held her notebook behind the flap of his coat, where the lamp shed its white rays upon it, and slowly read the text of the letter.  O’Gorman sat silent for some time after she had finished reading.

“In all my speculations concerning the Hathaway case,” he said to his daughter, “I never guessed this as the true solution of the man’s extraordinary actions.  But now, realizing that Hathaway is a gentleman to the core, I understand he could not have acted in any other way.”

“Mrs. Burrows is dead,” remarked Josie.

“I know.  It’s a pity she didn’t die long ago.”

“This thing killed her, Dad.”

“I’m sure of it.  She was a weak, though kind-hearted, woman and this trouble wore her out with fear and anxiety.  How did the girl—­Mary Louise—­take her mother’s death?”

“Rather hard, at first.  She’s quieter now.  But—­see here, Dad—­are you still working for the Department?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m sorry I’ve told you so much.  I’m on the other side.  I’m here to protect Mary Louise Burrows and her interests.”

“To be sure.  I sent you here myself, at my own expense, both to test your training before I let you into the regular game and for the sake of the little Burrows girl, whom I fell in love with when she was so friendless.  I believed things would reach a climax in the Hathaway case, in this very spot, but I couldn’t foresee that your cleverness would ferret out that letter, which the girl Irene intended to keep silent about, nor did I know that the Chief would send me here in person to supervise Hathaway’s capture.  Mighty queer things happen in this profession of ours, and circumstances lead the best of us by the nose.”

“Do you intend to arrest Mr. Hathaway?”

“After hearing that letter read and in view of the fact that Mrs. Burrows is dead, I think not.  The letter, if authentic, clears up the mystery to our complete satisfaction.  But I must get the story from Hathaway’s own lips, and then compare his statement with that in the letter.  If they agree, we won’t prosecute the man at all, and the famous case that has caused us so much trouble for years will be filed in the office pigeonholes and pass into ancient history.”

Josie O’Gorman sat silent for a long time.  Then she asked: 

“Do you think Mr. Hathaway will come here, now that—­now that—­”