Finally, she seated herself once more at her desk and wrote another letter, or rather a note.
It contained only a few lines, and was addressed to, "Mr. Raymond Vandyck."
Meanwhile, private detective Belknap was driving slowly in the light buggy, that had brought him to Wardour Place, toward the residence of Jasper Lamotte. His features wore a look of complacent self-satisfaction, and he hummed softly to himself, as he drove easily over the red and brown leaves that were beginning to flutter downward and carpet the highway.
Arriving at Mapleton; he drove leisurely up the avenue, and lifting his eyes toward the stately edifice crowning the hill, he saw, standing on the broad piazza, and gazing directly toward him, a beautiful woman, clad in trailing silk, and wearing a shawl of richest crimson cashmere, draped about her head and shoulders; as he drew nearer, he was startled at the strange mingling of pallor and flame in her face; the temples were like blue veined ivory, and the slender hands, clasping the folds of crimson, seemed scarcely strong enough to retain their hold; but the lips and cheeks were a glowing crimson, and the eyes burned and glowed with a steady intense light.
"So," thought private detective Belknap, "I have not left all the beauty behind me, it seems. I suppose this is the daughter of mine host."
And so thinking, he reined in his horse upon the graveled drive and, lifting up his hat, with elaborate courtesy, said:
"I believe this is Mapleton."
The lovely brunette allowed the crimson shawl to drop from about her head as she came slowly down the steps, never once removing her dark searching eyes from his face.
"This is Mapleton, sir. May I ask if this is Mr. Belknap?"
Somewhat surprised, he answered in the affirmative.