The Tracer of Lost Persons

-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a center table, penci

Harren pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and fig

id with a short laugh. "Can you ma

bet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and picked u

ile, then glanced inte

s no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, loo

men than you or I have spent a lifetime over this so-calle

arren: "What," he asked, "has the S

ed Harren, an

ited; Harren

s the ph

the table, hesitated, look

ed than this. There is only one thing in the world that could ju

he mere desire to find the living original of this apparitio

cer. A dull flush mounted to his forehead, and very slow

features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had drawn his chair beside him, and now

hotograph taken?" ask

before dressing for dinner. It was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric light. My c

y on his elbow, eyes

g for dinner, when my eyes happened to fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unloa

d the Trac

toward the window where there rem

er nodde

!" said Harren

he

ow. You can see the window a

zed intently

. "She was as real as you are, and she stood there,

you s

N

did she re

misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. . . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; besides, it had grown quite dark, and I co

acer coolly. "It has

living pe

ms, we must call, for lack of a bett

gether. Presently the Tracer sai

unclosed, but he

t?" repeated the Tracer, tur

e she is?" he a

aid the

stared

ee nothing upon this bit of paper that resembles

turne

almly. "I simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on thi

s sake!" cried

yet. Wait; let

anded Harren, laying his shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean cut, as distinct a

. W

an't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving me, Mr. Keen? Are yo

than I am. I tell you that I can

leaning close and examining the glass. Harren

arks on the glass

shook h

ifying glass?" a

eturned to the photograph, the Tracer bendin

ner of a curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to

e marks-so

written on that pane-as

ng dis

ou see

fect

nute d

es

t a moment: "Does

an't yo

it f

ren drew a rough sketch of the ring which he

er, "she wears the Seal

on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain

ry to work out its mystical meani

ol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never spoke to me. That is true; yet once

ll

ou wish to know

it was a

lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said-in the voice I know must be like h

sage in the seal? Is

, burying her face in

e plainly for you some day;

; but I must have confused her with the glimmering shafts of sunlight, and in a little w

then leaned over the photograph once more, which the Tr

hotograph which I'm going to copy," he said

his right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for t

uttered Captain Harren, twisting

ass written on the window pane in the photograph,"

hem before particularly-only t

k he sat, chin on hand, examining it in silenc

atiently; "do those scratches repres

rtment, secret military codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. And ev

mpl

simple that i

oing to be able to find a mea

going to be so very dif

Do you mean to say that you can u

amine it for repetitions fir

oice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pen

e cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it-you see where thes

ur he remained motionless, immersed in the problem bef