Page:The Mystery of Central Park.djvu/51

Rh

Richard Treadwell was in despair.

Days had passed since the burial of the unknown girl, and he was no nearer the solution of the mystery than he was on the morning of the discovery. He had not learned one new thing in the case, and what was infinitely worse, he had not the least idea how to set about the task.

He had taken to wandering restlessly about the city racked with the wildest despondency.

"Great Lord, if I only had an idea," he thought, desperately, as he walked up Fifth Avenue. "If I only knew how to begin—if I