"Do you really think he has any clew?" asked Lawrence.

This question did not seem to please the cashier, and she answered
gravely, though without any show of resentment: "That is a strange
question after I advised you to leave the money."

Lawrence had a kind heart, and it reproached him. "I beg your pardon,"
said he. "I will leave the money with you, but I desire that Mr Candy
will, in his next communication, give me all the information he has
acquired up to the moment of writing, and then I will decide whether it
is worth while to go on with the matter, or not."

He, thereupon, took out his pocket-book and handed three dollars to the
cashier, who, with an air of deliberate thoughtfulness, smoothed out the
two notes, and placed them in her drawer. Then she said: "If you will
leave your address, sir, I will see that you receive your information as
soon as possible. That will be better than for you to call, because I
can't tell you when to come."

"Very well," said Lawrence, "and I will be obliged to you if you will
hurry up Mr Candy as much as you can." And, handing her his card, he
went his way.

The way of Lawrence Croft was generally a very pleasant one, for the
fortunate conditions of his life made it possible for him to go around
most of the rough places which might lie in it. His family was an old
one, and a good one, but there was very little of it left, and of its
scattered remnants he was the most important member. But although
circumstances did not force him to do anything in particular, he liked