A picklock lay on the floor betraying how she had gained entrance in the night, and that was the only trace of her.
Whither had she gone?
That no mortal tongue could tell him.

The darkness had covered her flight; and when the day broke, no man could say where the light found her.
Before leaving the house and the town forever, he gave instructions to a friend and neighbor to sell his furniture for anything that it would fetch, and apply the proceeds to employing the police to trace her.

The directions were honestly followed, and the money was all spent, but the inquiries led to nothing.

The picklock on the bedroom floor remained the one last useless trace of the Dream-Woman.
At this point of the narrative the landlord paused, and, turning toward the window of the room in which we were sitting, looked in the direction of the stable-yard.
"So far," he said, "I tell you what was told to me.

The little that remains to be added lies within my own experience.