It was late in the afternoon, while Garrick was still busy with a
high-powered microscope, making innumerable micro-photographs,
when the door of the office opened softly and a young lady
entered.

As she advanced timidly to us, we could see that she was tall and
gave promise of developing with years into a stately woman--a
pronounced brunette, with sparkling black eyes. I had not met her
before, yet somehow I could not escape the feeling that she was
familiar to me.

It was not until she spoke that I realized that it was the eyes,
not the face, which I recognized.

"You are Mr. Garrick?" she asked of Guy in a soft, purring voice
which, I felt, masked a woman who would fight to the end for
anyone or anything she really loved.

Then, before Guy could answer, she explained, "I am Miss Violet
Winslow. A friend of mine, Mr. Warrington, has told me that you
are investigating a peculiar case for him--the strange loss of his
car."

Garrick hastened to place a chair for her in the least cluttered
and dusty part of the room. There she sat, looking up at him
earnestly, a dainty contrast to the den in which Garrick was
working out the capture of criminals, violent and vicious.