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 A yellow and white cat sat sunning itself on the railing and submitted indifferently to the caresses of the visitors. The cat was a gift from Brose, and Miss Comfort who had lived some sixty-odd years without such a thing, had not had sufficient courage to decline it. She had however, much to her surprise, grown very much attached to the animal as she frequently stated. She had named it Hector.

To-day Miss Comfort had news for them. The letter she had written to her brother-in-law in Sioux City had returned. She handed it around the circle. It had been opened, and its envelope bore an amazing number of inscriptions, many undecipherable, the gist of them being that Mr. A. G. Goupil had not been found. The missive had now been sent back by the Dead Letter Office in Washington. It was, Miss Comfort declared, very perplexing. Of course, she had always written to her sister at her home address but the firm name was just as she had told it.

"He might have moved away," suggested Bob, "after your sister died."

Miss Comfort agreed that that was possible, but Laurie said that in that case he would