Rob put his useless clue back into his pocket with a sigh. “I’m going to give it up,” he said, “and go back to New York. I’ve stayed here in Mapleton over a week now, hoping I could be of some help to poor old Carleton; but I can’t⁠—and yet I know he’s innocent! Fairbanks, the detective on the case, is pleasant to work with, and I like him; but if he can’t find out anything, of course I needn’t hope to. I’d stay on, though, if I thought Carleton cared to have me. But I’m not sure he does, so I’m going back home. When are you going to New York, Kitty?”

But the girl did not answer his question. “Rob,” she said, for the intimacy between these two young people had reached the stage of first names, “I have an inspiration.”

“I wish I had some faith in it, my dear girl; but your inspirations have such an inevitable way of leading up a tree.”

“I know it, and this may also. But listen: doesn’t Schuyler believe that you suspect him?”