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 at him with looks of love; the lovely lips seemed to say, "I love you, I love you." And Arthur pressed his lips to the sweet face, and murmured in response, "I love you, I love you! With all my heart and soul, I love you, and will be true to you."

Suddenly it occurred to him that the street door bell continued to ring. The sound jarred upon his ears. Throwing up his window he leaned forward, and at the top of his voice inquired who it was that continued to ring so pertinaciously.

"I have come to see Mr. Arthur Gooch," was the answer.

"To see me?" he cried in wonder.

"Yes, you, if you are Mr. Gooch."

"What for?"

"On most particular business."

Wondering more and more, the young man ran down the stairs and opened the street door. In the dim light he saw the figure of a gentleman with whose face he was not familiar.

"What do you want with me?" he asked.

"It will be best for us to speak privately," replied the stranger. "It is a most delicate matter."

"A most delicate matter!" stammered Arthur.

"A most delicate matter!" repeated the stranger in a grave tone.

The young man did not reflect upon the imprudence of asking a stranger up to his rooms at such an hour of the night. With the exception of the housekeeper, who occupied the basement, and who had been heard to declare that nothing less than an earthquake would wake her, once she was asleep, Arthur Gooch was the only night resident in the house. All the chambers, with the exception of his, were let as offices, and were tenanted only during the day. It is scarcely probable, however, if Arthur had given the matter a thought, that he would have acted differently. Here was a stranger paying him a visit, at an untimely hour it was true, but upon a delicate matter, which had best be disclosed in private. Arthur was a man of muscle, and stood six feet and half an inch in his stocking feet. The man who had intruded himself upon him was about five feet eight, a weed of a man in comparison with him. There was, moreover, no lack of physical courage in Arthur—a quality, it may be remarked, very different indeed from moral courage, in which respect a pigmy may be superior to a giant.

"Come up," said Arthur, and the two men ascended the stairs. "Now," he said, when they were together in his room, with the door closed, "you see that I am very busy. Explain your errand as briefly as possible. What is this delicate matter you speak of? I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance. Oh," he said, looking at a card presented by his visitor, "Mr. P. Foreman. Your name is as strange to me as your face. Who are you? What are you?"

"I am a private detective," said Mr. P. Foreman.

"A private detective!" cried Arthur, with an ominous frown. "And what business can you have with me at this hour of the night? I've a mind to pitch you out of window."

"Don't try it," said Mr. P. Foreman. "I should be bound to resist, and my shouts would be certain to bring someone to my assistance. As to my business, it is, as I have informed you, of a delicate nature."

"Speak in plain English if you have any regard for yourself."