has come under my direct notice. Indeed, I know of another that in
some respects, at least, surpasses that in points of interest, and if
you will promise not to inquire into the real names of the parties
concerned, as the affair is a secret, I will relate you my experience
regarding it."

The speaker was Q, the rising young detective, universally
acknowledged by us of the force as the most astute man for mysterious
and unprecedented cases, then in the bureau, always and of course
excepting Mr. Gryce; and such a statement from him could not but
arouse our deepest curiosity. Drawing up, then, to the stove around
which we were sitting in lazy enjoyment of one of those off-hours so
dear to a detective's heart, we gave with alacrity the required
promise; and settling himself back with the satisfied air of a man
who has a good story to tell that does not entirely lack certain
points redounding to his own credit, he began:

I was one Sunday morning loitering at the ----- Precinct Station, when
the door opened and a respectable-looking middle-aged woman came in,
whose agitated air at once attracted my attention. Going up to her, I
asked her what she wanted.

"A detective," she replied, glancing cautiously about on the faces of
the various men scattered through the room. "I don't wish anything
said about it, but a girl disappeared from our house last night,
and"--she stopped here, her emotion seeming to choke her--"and I want
some one to look her up," she went on at last with the most intense
emphasis.

"A girl? what kind of a girl; and what house do you mean when you say