club, and it had turned into the drive from the west. She knew, therefore, that he was coming from Uncle Benny's house, and, as the car swerved and wheeled in, she ran out into the hall to meet him. 

 He came in without taking off hat or coat; she could see that he was perturbed, greatly agitated. 

 "What is it, father?" she demanded.  "What has happened?" 

 "I do not know, my dear." 

 "It is something—something that has happened to Uncle Benny?" 

 "I am afraid so, dear—yes. But I do not know what it is that has happened, or I would tell you." 

 He put his arm about her and drew her into a room opening off the hall—his study. He made her repeat again to him the conversation she had had with Uncle Benny and tell him how he had acted; but she saw that what she told him did not help him. He seemed to consider it carefully, but in the end to discard or disregard it. 

 Then he drew her toward him. 

 "Tell me, little daughter. You have been a great deal with Uncle Benny and have talked with him; I want you to think carefully. Did you ever hear him speak of any one called Alan Conrad?" 

 She thought.  "No, father." 

 "No reference ever made by him at all to either name—Alan or Conrad?" 

 "No, father." 

 "No reference either to any one living in Kansas, or to a town there called Blue Rapids?" 

 "No, father. Who is Alan Conrad?" 

 "I do not know, dear. I never heard the name until to-day, and Henry Spearman had never heard it. But it appears to be intimately connected in some way with what was troubling Uncle Benny yesterday. He wrote a letter yesterday to Alan Conrad in Blue Rapids and mailed it himself; and afterward he tried to get it back, but it already had been taken up and was on its way. I have not been able to learn anything more about the letter than that. He seems to have been excited and troubled all day; he talked queerly to you, and he quarreled with Henry, but apparently not about anything of importance. And 

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