"But we first must find the generating line of the design, and then relate the subsidi'ry forms of the pattern to it."
Markham made a hopeless gesture.
"If only life were as simple as your æsthetic theories!"
"It's dashed simpler," Vance asserted. "The mere mechanism of a camera can record life; but only a highly developed creative intelligence, with a profound philosophic insight, can produce a work of art."
"Can you make any sense—æsthetic or otherwise—out of this?" Markham petulantly tapped the sheets of paper.
"I can see certain traceries, so to speak—certain suggestions of a pattern; but I'll admit the main design has thus far eluded me. The fact is, Markham, I have a feeling that some important factor in this case—some balancing line of the pattern, perhaps—is still hidden from us. I don't say that my résumé is insusceptible of interpretation in its present state; but our task would be greatly simplified if we were in possession of the missing integer."
Fifteen minutes later, when we had returned to Markham's main office, Swacker came in and laid a letter on the desk.
"There's a funny one, Chief," he said.
Markham took up the letter and read it with a deepening frown. When he had finished, he handed it to Vance. The letter-head read, "Rectory, Third Presbyterian Church, Stamford, Connecticut"; the date was the preceding day; and the signature was that of the Reverend Anthony Seymour. The con-
