It formed a prospective epitome of the day’s history; only that affairs had not turned out altogether in accordance with the programme. The card must have been lost from the Judge’s vest-pocket in his preliminary attempt to gain access by the main entrance of the house. Though well soaked with rain, it was still partially legible.

“Look here; Dixey!” cried the man. “This has something to do with Judge Pyncheon. See! — here’s his name printed on it; and here, I suppose, is some of his handwriting.”

“Let’s go to the city marshal with it!” said Dixey. “It may give him just the clew he wants. After all,” whispered he in his companion’s ear, “it would be no wonder if the Judge has gone into that door and never come out again!