"How do you do, Mr. St. John?" said the lawyer portentously. His
greeting was almost a warning, and reminded St. George of the way in
which certain brakemen call out stations. St. George responded as
blithely to this name as to his own and did not correct it. "And
what," went on the lawyer, sitting down with long unclosed hands
laid trimly along his knees, "have you to contribute to this most
remarkable occurrence, Mr. St. John?"

St. George briefly narrated the events of the morning and placed the
slip of paper in the lawyer's hands.

"Ah! We have here a communication in the nature of a confession,"
the lawyer observed, adjusting his gold pince-nez, head thrown back,
eyebrows lifted.

"Only the address, sir," said St. George, "and I was just saying to
Mrs. Hastings that some one ought to go to this address at once and
find out whatever is to be got there. Whoever goes I will very
gladly accompany."

Mr. Frothingham had a fashion of making ready to speak and
soliciting attention by the act, and then collapsing suddenly with
no explosion, like a bad Roman candle. He did this now, and whatever
he meant to say was lost to the race; but he looked very wise the
while. It was rather as if he discarded you as a fit listener, than
that he discarded his own comment.

"I don't know but I ought to go myself," rambled Mrs. Hastings,
"perhaps Mr. Hastings would think I ought. Suppose, Mr. Frothingham,