The Circular Study

e, you s

according to Miss Butterworth's description (and her descriptions may be relied upon), is one of those gentlemanly athletes whose towering heads and pow

e they d

ill according to Miss Butterworth) of sensitive temperament and unused to crime; for she was in a fainting condition when carried from the house, and he, with every inducement to self-restraint, showed himself the victim of such p

to their identity b

se few faded rose leaves picked up f

ch quest, now that I see how much rests upon chance in these matters. If Miss Butterworth had not been a precise woman, I should have failed in my former attempt, as I am likely to fail in this one. But I will make another effort to locate the owner of this parasol, if only to learn my business by failure. And now

-leaves? How can a florist help you in fi

I know that, I may succeed in discovering the particular store from

any one's schemes. Every man has his own methods,

enthusiasm, and hope, bowed. He was satis

nd you may not see me for a

reply. This ended the interview. In a

ened only by an interchange of notes between Mr. Gryce and Miss Butterworth. Hers was read by the o

Mr. G

police, but have you inquired of the postman in a certain district whether

.

h a frown by his exacting colleague i

ss Butt

from you. The postman delivers too many letters on that block to

.

g, he found Sweetwater awaiting him at the office, with a satisfied smile lighting up his plain features. He had reserved his stor

ave fallen from a bride rose-well, sir, I know that any woman can carry bride roses, but when I remembered that the clothes of her companion looked as though they had

the old detective. "That

o the end. Shall I tell you how? Hunting through the list of such persons as had been married within the city limits during the last two we

on! And how did

formed the ceremony. He was a kind and affable dom

escribed t

versation so that

woman did he make her ou

iful, and with a delicate bloom which showed her to be in better health than one would judge from her da

on leaving Mr. Adams's house was not the father to whom those few lines in Mr. Adams's han

wrong about that?"

ecame impas

d his attendance at th

o doubt about his having be

e about the

veloped, with a grand air and gentlemanly manners. Even his clothes correspond with what you

ediately before his death, and found himself wholly at sea. How reconcile facts so diametrically opposed? What allusion coul

is here. Neither she nor you will

s's

ay by a series of extraordinary coincidences. Dropping the lid of

this couple, the fact of their having been married at all, tally so little with

ge while the old gentleman departed in another. The latter concerned me little; it was the young couple I had been detailed to find. Employing the usual means of search, I tracked them to the Waldorf, where I learned what makes it certain that I have been following the right couple. On the afternoon of the very day of Mr. Adams's death, this young husband and wife left t

ve not

ily as the murdered man, you see.

ith admiration, but was not yet di

nd must be taken into account in the elucidation of a difficult problem. Much as I may regret to throw cold water on your hopes, there are reasons for believing that the young man and woman whom we are seeking are not the ones you have busied yourself about for the last two d

, and eyed his superior with a v

time which has elapsed since I saw you last. The investi

re have you bee

wn in Pennsylvania from which Mr. Poi

you learn there? Somethin

er, father of Eva, had for a friend

d Mr. Gryce, wi

this Amos had

A

right track; coincidences cannot

ing my conclusions too readily. Let us hear about this

t which, I own, came near nonplussing me. Though the father of Felix, his name was not Adams. I say was not, for he has been dead six months

el

Eve

n admirable fellow. So

at still holds. Shall I relate wh

in twenty-three and had been in your shoes

captain; but he was unfortunately taken prisoner at one of the late battles and confined in Libby Prison, where he suffered the tortures of the damned till he was released, in 1865, by a forced exchange of prisoners. Broken, old, and crushed, he returned home, and no one living in the town at that time will ever forget the day he alighted from the cars and took his way up the main street. For not having been fortunate enough, or unfortunate enough, perhaps, to receive any communication from home, he advanced with a cheerful haste, not knowing that his only daughter then lay dead in his friend's house, and that it was for her funeral that the people were collecting in the green square at the end of the street. He was so pale, broken, and decrep

bier, began tearing away at the pall in his desire to look upon the face of her he had left in such rosy health four years before. But he was stopped, not by Poindexter, who had vanished from the scene, but by Felix, the cold, severe-looking boy who stood like a guard behind his sister. Reaching out a hand so white it was in itself a shock,

, and Evelyn's young lover, who had died almost simultaneously with herself, was brought in and laid at her side. But not in the same grave: this was notic

s man was tall, long-bearded, and terrifying. His attitude, as the lad describes it, was one of defiance, if not of cursing. High in his right hand he held the child, almost as if he would hurl him at the village which lies under the hill on which the churchyard is perched; and though the moment passed quickly, the boy, now a man, never has forgotten the picture thus presented or admitted that it was anything but a real one. As the description he gave of this man answered to the appearance of Amos Cadwalader, and as the shoe of a little child was found next morning on the grave of Cadwalader's daughter, Evelyn, it has been thought by many that the boy really beheld this old soldier, who for some mysterious reason had chosen nightfall for this fleeting visit to his daughter's resting-place. But to others it was only a freak of the lad's imagination, which had been much influenced by the reading of romances. For, as these latter reasoned, had it really been Cadwalader, why

d again beco

elieve that Evelyn's deat

have concealed it from me. But there seemed to have been none. Evelyn Cadwalader was always of delicate health, and when a quick consumption carried her off no one marvelled. Her lover, who adored her, simply could not li

hem brought together again. Thomas Adams marries Eva Poindexter. B

child who was held alof

hed. What did you learn about him

, being gifted with every personal charm calculated to please a cultivated young woman, speedily won the affections of Eva Poindexter, and also the esteem of h

ared! A brother who, from being a Cadwalader, has become an Adams! An Eva whose name, as well as that of the long-buried Evelyn, was to be heard in constant repetition in the place where the murdered Felix lay with those inscrutable lines in his own wri

ll we know it among the fifty I

ng couple-but didn't you tell me you had

at a letter addressed to Mrs. Thomas Adams had been

now that

at Belleville. Here is his answer. It is unequivocal: 'Mr. Poindexter of Montgomery, Pa. Mr. Thom

t and your tongue still. Remember that as yet we are feeling our way blindfold, and must continue to do so till some kind hand

ated, a half-hour later, quite a stir in the

ng it on the hotel piazza at five o'clock. I may be reading too; if so, and my choice is a book, all is well, and you may devour your story in peace. But if I lay aside my book and take up a paper, devote but one eye to your story and turn the other on the people who are passing you. If after you have done so, you leave your b