them if you wish to avoid future trouble; that is all, sir."

The stranger, having spoken in the strange manner related, rose and without another word departed, and there followed a few moments' silence, broken at length by our hero, who said:

"So that was the Richards family who occupied the box in the theater this evening?"

"Yes."

"They are friends of yours?"

Wagner made no answer, but asked:

"Do you know them?"

"I have heard about them."

"I met them in Paris; I know nothing about their social standing. I have found them very pleasant people and I do not understand the hints of that man, nor why he should address me. He appeared to know my name, and was otherwise well posted, as it appears, concerning my acquaintance with those people. Who can the man be?"

"He is probably a detective."

"A detective?"

"Yes."

Young Wagner became thoughtful for quite an interval, and then in a musing tone said:

"I do not understand it."

"Let me see," said Jack; "it strikes me that this Richards family is the same family from whose home a young lady disappeared a week or so ago. Possibly this detective has his suspicions concerning that young lady's disappearance. I've heard about it. I remember now that some young baron's name was associated with her disappearance."

Wagner's face became very pale. He fixed his fine eyes on the detective, and after a moment said:

"From whom did you hear this?"

"The girl's mother; she is an acquaintance—yes, she told me all about it. She is very much distressed; and now, come to think, are you the young German baron alluded to in the case?"

Wagner sat for a moment with a solemn and perplexed look upon his handsome face, when suddenly he demanded:

"Who are you?"

"I told you my name was Jack Pitts."

"And you know the mother of this missing girl?"

"Yes."

"What did she tell you?"

"Merely that her daughter was missing, and that it was very strange. She appeared to feel, however, that her daughter was only temporarily absent, and would return all right in a little while."

"Did you ever see this daughter?" asked Wagner.

"I never did."

"She is a very beautiful girl."

"Then you are acquainted with her?"

"I saw her at the Richards' home."

"What sort of folks are these Richards people?"

Wagner made no immediate answer, but after a moment he said:

"I am only slightly acquainted with you. Remember, we first met last night; I do not feel at liberty to give you my confidence. I wish I could, for at this moment I need a friend. I have been sadly villified, I know, and there is a false impression concerning me in some quarters. I do not deserve to be misunderstood in this way, for I never did a dishonorable act in my life."

"Although we only met last night, August, you can trust me—yes, trust me as freely as though I were your own brother. Tell me about yourself."

The young German meditated a few moments and then said:

"I am really the brother of a baron. The baron is unmarried and has been, so I have been informed, stricken with a fatal disease. My brother has lived a very reckless life; he has mortgaged our family estates beyond their market value. To-day should he die I would become the baron, but alas! only an empty title would come to me. I came to America intending to win and woo some wealthy heiress. In Paris I met the Richards family. To me they have always appeared honorable enough, but I will admit that I have heard stories to the contrary. Mr. Richards has a daughter living in Paris—" and here the young man suddenly stopped.

"Go on," said our hero.

"Do not think me egotistical if I tell the truth."

"Certainly not; I see you are not an egotistical man."

"I am not, although the second son of a baron who was descended from a long line of barons. I have known poverty all my life. My brother, the present baron, is twice my age, and he had involved the estates as prospective heir before I was born, and when he came into possession he finished them up. No, I am not proud in one way, and I will tell the truth. I know that the Richards family, who appear to have a great deal of money, desired to have me marry their daughter. I could not do so."

"Why not?"

"I did not love her, and she is not a true type of the American girl. I crossed in the same steamer with the Richards family, and they are about the only people with whom I have been intimate since my arrival here, and—" Again the young man stopped shortly, and the detective urged:

"Proceed, tell me the whole story; you will not regret it."

"I have reason to believe that while the Richards family have been very kind to me, for reasons of their own they have circulated the stories about me. They have recognized me at their social gatherings, but I have evidence that they have given out that I am a pretense."

"Have you suspected their motive?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"They do not wish me to meet with recognition outside of themselves. They are determined that I shall marry their daughter; I never will."

It was the detective's turn to meditate, and we will here state that he believed the young man had told him the truth. He had brought his logical mind to bear upon the circumstances and had arrived at a conclusion. After a moment he said:

"I am very much obliged to you for trusting me, but there is something you have held back."

"I believe I have told you all."

"No, I am a sort of mind-reader, and I have discerned something that you have not told me."

"Then you have a suspicion?"

"Yes."

"What do you suspect?"

"I suspect that you know something concerning the disappearance of the young lady who was acting as governess in the Richards family."