explain the mystery.

Mr. Bingle's voice began to quaver much earlier in the story than
usual. He was always moved to tears, but as a rule he was able to
suppress them until along toward the end of the story. But now he was
in distress from the beginning. He choked up completely, in a most
uncalled-for manner and at singularly unexpected places. He managed to
struggle through the first twenty or thirty pages, and then, seeing
for himself that he was nearing the first of the weepy places and
realising that he was sure to burst into tears if he continued, he
deliberately closed the book, keeping his forefinger between the
leaves, and announced in a strained voice that he would skip over to
the final chapter if the audience did not object. He gave no excuse.
It is doubtful, however, if he was gratified by the profound sigh of
relief that went up from the group of listeners.

At last, he came to the end of the story. He had no voice at all for
the concluding paragraphs: a hoarse, grotesque whisper, that was all.
When the servants had departed and the children were scampering off to
bed, thrilled by promises of the morrow, Mr. Single's arm stole about
his wife's shoulders and she was drawn suddenly, even violently close
to his side. He avoided her puzzled, worried gaze and resolutely
addressed himself to Mr. and Mrs. Force and Mr. Flanders. Miss
Fairweather had disappeared.

"That man was a detective," said he, without preamble. "His agency was
employed nearly a year ago to discover the whereabouts of a certain
child, whose father, repenting a wrong perpetrated years ago, desires
to do the right thing by his luckless offspring. After all these
months, this detective has located the little girl. She is in this