Mr. James Smith had by this time fully controlled the emotion he felt as he recognized his wife’s name and handwriting, and knew that at last the clue was found!  He laid down the case carelessly, gave the final directions for the repairs of his watch, and left the shop.  The address, of which he had taken a mental note, was, to his surprise, very near his own lodgings; but he went straight home.  Here a few inquiries of his janitor elicited the information that the building indicated in the address was a large one of furnished apartments and offices like his own, and that the “Mrs. Smith” must be simply the housekeeper of the landlord, whose name appeared in the Directory, but not her own.  Yet he waited until evening before he ventured to reconnoitre the premises; with the possession of his clue came a slight cooling of his ardor and extreme caution in his further proceedings.  The house—­a reconstructed wooden building—­offered no external indication of the rooms she occupied in the uniformly curtained windows that front the street.  Yet he felt an odd and pleasurable excitement in passing once or twice before those walls that hid the goal of his quest.  As yet he had not seen her, and there was naturally the added zest of expectation.  He noticed that there was a new building opposite, with vacant offices to let.  A project suddenly occurred to him, which by morning he had fully matured.  He hired a front room in the first floor of the new building, had it hurriedly furnished as a private office, and on the second morning of his discovery was installed behind his desk at the window commanding a full view of the opposite house.  There was nothing strange in the South American capitalist selecting a private office in so popular a locality.

Two or three days elapsed without any result from his espionage.  He came to know by sight the various tenants, the two Chinese servants, and the solitary Irish housemaid, but as yet had no glimpse of the housekeeper.  She evidently led a secluded life among her duties; it occurred to him that perhaps she went out, possibly to market, earlier than he came, or later, after he had left the office.  In this belief he arrived one morning after an early walk in a smart spring shower, the lingering straggler of the winter rains.  There were few people astir, yet he had been preceded for two or three blocks by a tall woman whose umbrella partly concealed her head and shoulders from view.  He had noticed, however, even in his abstraction, that she walked well, and managed the lifting of her skirt over her trim ankles and well-booted feet with some grace and cleverness.  Yet it was only on her unexpectedly turning the corner of his own street that he became interested.  She continued on until within a few doors of his office, when she stopped to give an order to a tradesman, who was just taking down his shutters.  He heard her voice distinctly; in the quick emotion it gave him he brushed hurriedly past her without lifting his eyes.  Gaining his