several letters which the postman had just handed in.

"O, Mr. Worth," she exclaimed, "I want to show you the picture of my last
beau. He is a countryman of yours. He promised to send me his photograph,
and here it is. He is good looking, isn't he?" And she handed the card to
Worth. "I didn't expect him to keep his promise," she concluded.

As Worth glanced at the picture, he was startled, for his eyes fell upon
a face he had seen in the junior class a year ago at Burrough Road
commencement. Turning the card over, he read on the back: "From your ever
true friend and well-wisher, J.G. Markham, Evansville, Indiana."

"What is your friend's name?" asked Worth.

"James Thorne," answered the girl. "Did you ever see him?"

In an indifferent tone Worth replied: "Don't know anybody of that name."

In thirty-six hours the young detective found himself domiciled in a
quiet little hotel, the Mount Vernon, on the wharf of the Ohio River, at
Evansville, Indiana. He selected this house because of its retired
location. He knew that it was just as necessary for him to keep out of
the sight of the man he sought as it was for the thief to keep outside
the pale of his vision. He easily found the photograph gallery of
Markham, but nothing of a satisfactory nature developed. True, the
negative was at last found with a number 1,761 upon it, but no name, and
the artist didn't so much as remember the face.

The hotel registers were next inspected without giving any clue. Now the
young detective quietly took account of the evidence in his possession.