"The man yelled. Grace screamed and tumbled over on the grass, just as I expected her to. Amy Holmes jumped from the ladder, ran to the man, and said, "quick! come!" I fired again, and Grace raised herself suddenly with such a moan that I thought in my haste I had hit her.

"I threw down the pistol, ran and picked her up as if she were a baby, and took her around to the back door. By the time I found out that she was not hurt, and had got back to the ladder, the man and Amy were gone, and I heard a buggy going down the road at a furious rate."

She paused and sighed deeply, looked at me for a moment, and then, as I made no effort to break the silence, she resumed:

"It's not a pleasant story for a mother to tell concerning her own daughter, but when I think of Nellie Ewing I know that it might accidentally have been worse.

"I commanded Grace to tell me the whole truth. She cried, and declared that she was under oath not to tell. After a little she grew calmer, and then told me that she meant no harm. Amy had a lover who was not a favorite with her guardian, who lives somewhere South. Amy was about to run away and be married, and Grace was to accompany her as a witness. They both expected to be safely back before daylight. Of course I did not believe this, and I told her so. Her actions after that made me wish that I had not disputed her story. I have used every argument, and I am convinced that nothing more can be got out of Grace. She is terribly frightened and nervous, but she is stubborn as death. Whatever the truth is, she is afraid to tell it."

"And Miss Holmes; what more of her?"

"Nothing more; she went away in the buggy with the others."

"The others?"

"Yes; I am sure there were two, for I found the place where the buggy stood waiting. It was not at the gate, but further south. There was a ditch between the wheel marks and the fence, and nothing to tie to. Some one must have been holding the horses."

"And this is all you know about the business?"

"Yes, everything."

"Where is your daughter now?"

"At home, under lock and key, with a trusty hired man to stand guard over her and the house until I get back, and with Freddy and the hired girl for company."

"Does she know why you came to the city?"

"Not she. I told her I was coming to make arrangements for putting her to school at a convent, and I intend to do it, too."

Making no comment on this bit of maternal discipline, I again had recourse to my note-book.

"You are fixed in your desire not to have your daughter further interviewed?" I asked, presently.

"I am," she replied. "I don't think it would do any good, and she is not fit to endure any more excitement. I expect to find her sick in bed when I get home."

"Do you think your shot injured the man?"

"I know it did," emphatically. "I aimed at his legs, intending to hit them, and I did it. He never gave such a screech as that from sheer fright; there was pain in it. Amy must have helped him to the carriage."

"Is this escapade known among your neighbors?"

"No. I hushed it up at home, giving my girl and hired man a different story to believe. I could not get away by the morning train from Sharon, and so started the next evening. I left them all at home with Grace, and drove alone to Sharon, leaving my horse at the stable there."

"You certainly acted very wisely, although I regret the delay. Miss Holmes and her two cavaliers have now nearly four days the start of us. Did you notice the size of the man at the ladder?"

"Yes; he was not a large man, if anything a trifle below the medium height."

"You think, then, that Miss Holmes made a willful effort to deceive you, when she told you that the album verse was written by Professor Bartlett? By-the-by, is there a Professor Asa Bartlett at Amora?"

"Yes, he is the Principal. If you could see him, you would never accuse him of having written a silly verse like that. I am sure Amy meant to deceive me, and I am sure that she posted Grace about it, in case I should ask her."

"But you did not ask her?"

"No. One does not care to make one's own child tell an unnecessary lie. Grace would have stood by Amy, no doubt."

It was growing late in the afternoon. There was much to do, much to think over, and no time to lose. I was not yet prepared to give Mrs. Ballou the benefit of my opinion, as regarded her daughter's escapade, so I arranged for a meeting in the evening, promising to have my plans decided upon and ready to lay before her at that time.

She wished, if possible, to return home on the following day, and I told her that I thought it not only possible, but advisable that she should do so.

Then I called a carriage, saw her safely ensconced therein, en route for her hotel, and returned to my Chief.

I had now two interests. I much desired to arrive at the bottom of the Groveland mystery, and thought, with the information now in hand, that this was quite possible; and I also desired to remain at my post among the Traftonites. I at once decided upon my course. I would tell my Chief Mrs. Ballou's story, and then I would give him a brief history of our sojourn in Trafton and its motive. After that, we would decide how to act.

There was no pause for rest or food, or thought, until I had given my Chief a history of Mrs. Ballou's vigil and excellent pistol exploit, and followed this up by the story of my Trafton experience.

His first comment, after he had listened for an hour most attentively, brought from my lips a sigh of relief; it was just what I longed to hear.

"Well, you need have no fear so far as this office is concerned. 'Squire Brookhouse has not called for its services."

CHAPTER XV.
PREPARATIONS OF WAR.

"Yes."

"Well, I have since made the acquaintance of this young man."

"Ah!"

"At first I thought it only a coincidence, and dismissed the matter from my mind. Since I have heard Mrs. Ballou's story, a queer thought has entered my head."

"Explain."

"This young gallant, whom I first saw in the company of the runaway Miss Holmes, is Mr. Arch, or Archibald Brookhouse, of Trafton."

"I see," thoughtfully.

"And the initials following that album verse are A. B."

"A. B.! Archibald Brookhouse! There may be something in it, but should you feel justified in suspecting this young man as the possible author of your anonymous letter?"

"If he is the writer of the album lines, yes."

"What do you propose to do?"

"First," said I, "we must call in the dummy."

"Yes."

"Then I want a good man to go to Groveland in search of information. I want him to find out all that he can concerning the character of this Johnny La Porte, who attended school at Amora, and was a fellow-student with Nellie Ewing, Mamie Rutger, and Grace Ballou."

"Good."

"Then he must learn if any of the Groveland youths have become lame since last Sunday, and if any of these same gentry was missing, or absent from home, during the night of the 17th, for, of course, Miss Amy Holmes being on his hands, the driver of the carriage which Mrs. Ballou routed that night must have been absent sometime, if he belonged in the community. He surely had to dispose of Miss Holmes in some way."

"Do you think it probable that some Groveland Lothario was mixed up in this elopement business?"

"I think it not improbable. The first search was made, seemingly, upon the supposition that all Groveland was above suspicion, and that search failed. I intend to hold all Groveland Lotharios upon my list of suspected criminals until they are individually and collectively proven innocent."

"Quite right."

"On second thought we had better let the dummy remain until we have put a new man in the field; by this time he must know something about the people he is among. Who can you send to Groveland?"

"Wyman, I think."

"Capital; Wyman is good at this sort of thing. He had better present himself in person to our dummy, hear all that he can tell, and then deliver your letter of recall, and see him safely on his way to the city before he has time to open his mouth for the benefit of any one else."

"Very good; Wyman is at your disposal."

I drew toward me a large portfolio containing State and county maps. It lay at all times upon the office table, convenient for reference.

While I was tracing the eccentric course of a certain railroad, I could feel my Chief's eyes searching my countenance.

"Bathurst," he said, after some moments of silence, and leaning toward me as he spoke, "I believe you have a theory, or a suspicion, that is not entirely based upon Mrs. Ballou's revelation."

"You are right," I replied, "and it is a suspicion of so strange a sort that I almost hesitate to give it utterance, and yet I think it worthy of attention. I want to shadow this cavalier, Arch Brookhouse."

"Yes."

"I find by this map that the town of Amora is situated twenty-five miles from Groveland, and thirty miles from Trafton. Sharon, the nearest railroad communication with Groveland, is thirty miles from Amora, so that the distance from Trafton to Sharon is sixty miles, and the seminary town is midway between."

My Chief made a sign which meant "I comprehend; go on."

"Now, it is possible that accident or business brought Mr. Arch Brookhouse to Sharon, and that his meeting with Miss Holmes was quite accidental, and his attendance upon Miss Holmes and Grace Ballou merely a chance bit of gallantry. But when you consider that he seemed equally well known to both young ladies, that Sharon is a small town, and a dull one, and that Miss Holmes came from Amora that morning, is it not just as probable that Mr. Brookhouse traveled from Trafton to Amora for the purpose of escorting Miss Holmes to Sharon? Now, young men of our day are not much given to acts of courtesy extending over sixty miles of railroad; therefore, if Arch Brookhouse visited Sharon for the sole purpose of meeting these two young ladies, and basking in their society for a brief half hour, it is fair to presume that he is more than ordinarily interested in one of them."

"You are right, Bathurst; at least it would seem so."

"Now let me tell you all that I know concerning the Brookhouses."

Once more I gave a minute description of my first meeting with Arch Brookhouse, and of the second, when I recognized him at Trafton. Then I told him of my interview with the telegraph operator, of the telegram sent by Fred Brookhouse from New Orleans, and of the reply sent by Arch, and last I told him how Louis Brookhouse had come home, accompanied by another young man, on the day after the attempted flight of Grace Ballou, and how Dr. Bethel had been called upon to attend him, he having met with an accident.

My Chief stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"I see," he said, slowly, "you have some nice points of circumstantial evidence against these young gentlemen. How do you propose to use them?"

"First, I must know what motive took Arch Brookhouse to Sharon, and find out if either of the Brookhouse brothers have been students at Amora. I want therefore to send a second man to Amora."

"Very good."

"If I find that either, or both, of the younger brothers have been fellow-students with Grace Ballou, and the missing girls, then I shall wish to extend my search."

"To New Orleans?"

"To New Orleans."

"Is there anything more?"

"Yes; one thing. If Carnes goes to New Orleans I shall want a telegraph operator in Trafton."

"Then you wish to remain in Trafton?"

"Yes, and this takes me back to the other matter. I quite expected that a man like 'Squire Brookhouse would have called upon you for help. If he has employed men from either of the other offices, we can easily find out who they are."

"Easily."

"I shall wish to inform myself on this point, and if possible, return to Trafton to-morrow night. I am to see Mrs. Ballou again to-night; now I think I will have some supper."

I arose, but stood, for a moment, waiting for any word of command or suggestion my Chief might have to offer.

He sat for many seconds, seemingly oblivious of my presence. Then he looked up.

"I shall make no suggestions," he said, waving his hand as if to dismiss both the subject and myself. "I will instruct Wyman and Earle at once. When you come in after seeing Mrs. Ballou, you will find them at your disposal, and give yourself no trouble about those other detectives. I will attend to that."

I thanked him and withdrew. This curt sentence from the lips of my Chief was worth more to me than volumes of praise from any other source, for it convinced me that he not only trusted me, but that he approved my course and could see none better.

I saw Mrs. Ballou again that evening, and put to her some questions that not only amazed her, but seemed to her most irrelevant, but while she answered without fully comprehending my meaning or purpose, some of her replies were, to me, most satisfactory.

After I had heard all that she could tell me concerning Mr. Johnny La Porte, I gave her a minute description of Arch Brookhouse, and ended by asking if she had ever seen any one who answered to that description.

I was puzzled, but scarcely surprised, at her answer, which came slowly and after considerable reflection.

Yes, she had seen such a young man; I had described him exactly. She had seen him twice. He came to her house in company with Ed. Dwight. Dwight was an agent for various sewing machines; he was a jolly, good-natured fellow, very much liked by all the young Grovelanders; he had traveled the Groveland route for two years, perhaps three. He was quite at home at Mrs. Ballou's, and, in fact, anywhere where he had made one or two visits. The young man I had described had been over the Groveland route twice with Ed. Dwight, each time stopping for dinner at Mrs. Ballou's. His name, she believed, was Brooks, and he had talked of setting up as an agent on his own responsibility.

Did she know Mr. Dwight's place of residence?

He lived on the C. & L. road, somewhere between Sharon and Amora. Mrs. Ballou could not recall the name of the town.

I did not need that she should; a sewing machine agent whose name I knew, and who lived somewhere between Amora and Sharon, would not be difficult to find.

"How did Mr. Dwight travel?"

"In a very nice covered wagon, and with a splendid team."

"How long since Mr. Brooks and Mr. Dwight paid a visit to Groveland?"

Mrs. Ballou thought it was fully six months since their last visit.

"That would be nearly two months before Mamie Rutger and Nellie Ewing disappeared?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen Dwight since?"

"Oh, yes; he comes at stated times, as usual."

It was growing late, and I was more than satisfied with my interview with Mrs. Ballou. I advised her to keep Grace for the present under her own eye and, promising that she should see or hear from me soon, took my leave.

Mrs. Ballou had announced her intention to return by the morning train.

We could not be traveling companions, as I was not to leave the city until afternoon.

Reaching my room I sat into the small hours looking over my notes, jotting down new ones, smoking and thinking.

The next morning I saw Wyman and Earle, gave them full instructions, and arranged to receive their reports at the earliest possible moment, by express, at Trafton.

At noon I was in possession of all that could be learned concerning the identity of the detectives employed by 'Squire Brookhouse. No officer of any of the regular forces had been employed. Mr. Brookhouse had probably obtained the services of private detectives.

Private detectives, of more or less ability, are numerous in the city, and I was personally known to but few of these independent experts. Most of those could be satisfactorily accounted for, and I turned my face toward Trafton, feeling that there was little danger of being "spotted" by a too knowing brother officer.

CHAPTER XVI.
FLY CROOKS IN TRAFTON.

He did not glance at me, as he passed, but, from my lounging position, I could watch his face and study it at my leisure. At the first glance it struck me as being familiar; I had seen the man before, but where? Slowly, as I looked, the familiarity resolved itself into identity, and then I watched him with growing interest, and some wonder.

Seven months ago, while working upon a criminal case, I had made the acquaintance of this gentleman at a thieves' tavern, down in the slums. I was, of course, safely disguised at the time, and in an assumed character; hence I had no fear of being recognized now.

"Dimber[A] Joe" had been doing Government service, in consequence of his connection with a garroting escapade, and had but just been released from "durance vile." His hair was then somewhat shorter than was becoming; his face was unshaven, and his general appearance that of a seedy, hard-up rascal. The person before me wore his hair a little longer than the ordinary cut; his face was clean shaven, his linen immaculate, and his dress a well-made business suit, such as a merchant or banker abroad might wear. But it was Dimber Joe.

Evidently fortune had dropped a few, at least, of her favors at Dimber Joe's feet, but it was quite safe to conjecture that some one was so much the worse off for his present prosperity.

What new mischief was on foot? for it was hardly likely that Dimber Joe, late the associate of river thieves, was now undertaking an honest journey.

I resolved to watch him closely while our way was the same, and to give my Chief an account of our meeting, together with a description of Joe's "get up," at the first opportunity.

Accordingly, I remained in the smoking car during the entire journey, but no suspicious or peculiar movement, on the part of Dimber Joe, rewarded my vigilance, until the brakeman called Trafton, and we pulled into that station.

Then Dimber Joe arose, stretched himself, flung a linen duster across his arm, and, swinging in his hand a small valise, quitted the car, stepped down upon the shadowy platform just ahead of me; and, while I was looking about for Carnes, vanished in the darkness.

"Well, Carnes," I said, when we were once more alone in our room at the hotel, "what has happened? Have you seen anything that looks like a detective?"

"Niver a wan," he replied. "I've kept an open eye on every train from both ways, but the only arrival in this city, worth making mintion of, has been—who d'ye think?"

"Myself, I suppose."

"No, sir! Not a bit of it. It's a cove that means no good to Trafton, you may depend. It's Blake Simpson, and he's rooming in this very house."

"Blake Simpson! are you sure?"

"Av coorse I'm sure! Did ye ever know me to miss a face? I never saw the fellow before he came here, but I've made the acquaintance of his phiz in the rogue's gallery. He came yesterday; he wears good togs, and is playing the gentleman; you know he is not half a bad looking fellow, and his manner is above suspicion. He is figuring as a patent-right man, but he'll figure as something else before we see the last of him in Trafton, depend upon it."

Blake Simpson was known, at least by name, to every man on the force. He was a mixture of burglar, street robber, and panel-worker; and was a most dangerous character.

"Carnes," I said, slowly, "I am afraid some new misfortune menaces Trafton, if, as you say, Blake Simpson is already here, for Dimber Joe came down on the train to-night, and is in Trafton."

Carnes uttered a long, low whistle.

"Blake and Dimber Joe!" he said. "A fine pair, sure enough; and in what shape does the Dimber come?"

"He comes well-dressed, and looking like a respectable member of society."

"Well," with a prodigious yawn, "we got here first, and we will try and sleep with one eye open while they stay in Trafton. What did you learn about the Brookhouse investigation, Bathurst?"

I told him the result of our search among the city detectives, and finished by saying:

"Probably the new debutants will be strangers, and will not interfere with our movements. I wish I knew whether Bethel will eventually decide to employ a detective. I don't think he is the man to let such a matter drop."

"He won't take it up for the present, I fancy. Dr. Barnard is dangerously ill; was taken yesterday, very suddenly. They depend entirely upon Bethel; he is in constant attendance. I heard Porter say that the old gentleman's case was a desperate one, and that a change for the worse might be expected at any moment."

I was sorry to hear such news of the jovial old doctor. His was a life worth something to the community; but I was not sorry to learn that an immediate interview with Dr. Bethel could be staved off, without exciting wonder or suspicion in his mind; for, since my visit to the city, I had reconsidered my intention to confide in the doctor, and resolved to keep my own counsel, at least for the present.

Previous to my visit to the city, we had decided that it was time to explore the south road, and also that it was desirable to "get the measure" of Jim Long at the earliest opportunity.

We settled upon the best method by which to accomplish the former, and undertake the latter, object. And then Carnes, who had been very alert and active during my absence, and who was now very sleepy, flung himself upon his bed to pass the few hours that remained of darkness in slumber.

I had not yet opened up to him the subject of the Groveland operations, thinking it as well to defer the telling until I had received reports from Wyman and Earle.

We had now upon our hands a superabundance of raw material from which to work out some star cases. But, just now, the Groveland affair seemed crowding itself to the front, while the Trafton scourges, and the villainous grave-robbers, seemed to grow more and more mysterious, intangible, and past finding out.

The presence of Blake Simpson and Dimber Joe gave me some uneasiness; but, guessing that their stay in Trafton would be short, I resolved not to bring myself into prominence by notifying the authorities of the presence of two such dangerous characters, but rather to trust them to Carnes' watchfulness while I passed a day, or more if need be, in exploring the south road.

As I settled my head upon my pillow after a long meditation, I remembered that to-morrow would be Sunday, and that Tuesday was the day fixed for Miss Manvers' garden party.

CHAPTER XVII.
SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE.

His words were a mass of absurd contradictions, betraying no trait of his individuality, save his eccentricity; and his face was, at all times, as unreadable as the sphinx. When you turned from his contradictory words to read his meaning in his looks, you felt as if turning from the gambols of Puck to peer into a vacuum.

Regretting the loss of Jim's society, as well as the opportunity it might possibly have afforded, I urged my horses swiftly over the smooth sun-baked road, noting the aspect of the country as we flew on.

Straight and level it stretched before me, with field, orchard, and meadow on either hand; a cultivated prairie. There were well-grown orchards, and small artificial groves, rows of tall poplars, clumps of low-growing trees, planted as wind breaks, hedges high and branching, low and closely trimmed. But no natural timber, no belts of grove, no thick undergrowth; nothing that might afford shelter for skulking outlaws, or stolen quadrupeds.

The houses were plentiful, and not far apart. There were the pretentious new dwellings of the well-to-do farmers, and the humbler abodes of the unsuccessful land tiller, and the renter. There were stacks, and barns, and granaries, all honest in their fresh paint or their weather-beaten dilapidation; no haven for thieves or booty here.

So for ten miles; then there was a stretch of rolling prairie, but still no timber, and as thickly settled as before.

Fifteen miles from Trafton I crossed a high bridge that spanned a creek almost broad enough and deep enough to be called a river. On either side was a fringe of hazel brush and a narrow strip of timber, so much thinned by the wood cutter that great gaps were visible among the trees, up and down, as far as the eye could see.

I watered my horses here, and drawing forth a powerful field glass, which I had made occasional use of along the route, surveyed the country. Nothing near or remote seemed worthy of investigation.

Driving beneath some friendly green branches, I allowed my horses to rest, and graze upon the tender foliage, while I consulted a little pocket map of the country.

I had been driving directly south, and the C. & L. railroad ran from Trafton a little to the southwest. At a distance of eighteen miles from that town the railroad curved to the south and ran parallel with the highway I was now traveling, but at a distance of eight miles. Ten miles further south and I would come upon the little inland village of Clyde, and running due west from Clyde was a wagon road straight to the railroad town of Amora.

I had started early and driven fast; consulting my watch I found that it was only half-past ten.

I had intended to push my investigation at least twenty-five miles south, and although I was already convinced that no midnight raiders would be likely to choose as an avenue of escape a highway so thickly dotted with houses, many of them inconveniently near the road, and so insufficient in the matter of hills and valleys, forest and sheltering underbrush. I decided to go on to Clyde, hoping, if I failed in one direction, to increase my knowledge in another.

I put away map and field glass, lit a fresh cigar, turned my horses once more into the high road and pursued my journey.

It was a repetition of the first ten miles; broad fields and rich meadows, browsing cattle and honest-eyed sheep; thickly scattered farm buildings, all upright and honest of aspect; the whole broad face of the country seemed laughing my investigations to scorn.

When I found myself within sight of Clyde I stopped my team, having first assured myself that no spectator was in sight and selected from the roadside a small, round pebble. Looking warily about me a second time, I inserted it between the hoof and shoe of the most docile of the two horses.

It was an action that would have brought me into disfavor with the great Bergh, but in the little game I was about to play, the assistance which a lame horse could render seemed necessary.

I promised the martyr a splendid rub down and an extra feed as a compensation, and we moved on slowly toward our destination, the near horse limping painfully, and his comrade evidently much amazed, and not a little disgusted, at this sudden change of gait.

The little village of Clyde was taking its noontide nap when I drove down its principal street, and I felt like a wolf in Arcadia; all was so peaceful, so clean, so prim and so silent.

A solitary man emerging from a side street roused me to action. I drove forward and checked my horses directly before him.

Could I find a livery stable in the town? And was there such a thing as a hotel?

Yes, there was a sort of a stable, at least anybody could get a feed at Larkins' barn, and he kept two or three horses for hire. As for a hotel, there it was straight ahead of me; that biggish house with the new blinds on it.

Being directed to Larkins', I thanked my informant, and was soon making my wants known to Larkins himself.

Thinking it quite probable that the hired team which I drove might be known to some denizen of Clyde, I at once announced myself as from Trafton; adding, that I had driven out toward Clyde on business, and, being told that I could reach Baysville by a short cut through or near Clyde, I had driven on, but one of my horses having suddenly become lame, I had decided to rest at Clyde, and then return to Trafton. I had been told that Baysville was not more than seven miles from Clyde.

It is scarcely necessary to state that I had really no intention of visiting Baysville, and that my map had informed me as to its precise location.

The truth was that I had dropped for the moment the Trafton case, and had visited Clyde in the interest of Groveland, thinking it not unlikely that this little hamlet, being so near Amora, might be within the area traversed by Mr. Ed. Dwight, the sewing machine agent.

He was said to live somewhere between Amora and Sharon, perhaps here I could learn the precise location of his abiding place.

Leaving my tired horses to the care of Larkins, I next bent my steps towards the commodious dwelling which did duty as hotel. There was no office, but the sitting-room, with its homely rag carpet, gaudy lithographs, old fashioned rocker, and straight-backed "cane seats," was clean and cool. There was a small organ in one corner, a sewing machine in another, and an old fashioned bureau in a third.

A little girl, of fourteen years or less, entered the room timidly, followed by two younger children. She took from the bureau a folded cloth, snowy and smooth, and left the room quietly, but the younger ones, less timid, and perhaps more curious, remained.

Perching themselves uncomfortably upon the extreme edges of two chairs, near together but remote from me, they blinked and stared perseveringly, until I broke the silence and set them at their ease by commencing a lively conversation.

The organ was first discussed, then the sewing machine furnished a fresh topic. After a time my dinner was served: but, during the half-hour of waiting, while my hostess concocted yellow soda biscuit, and fried monstrous slices of ham, I had gathered, from my seemingly careless chatter with the children, some valuable information. While I ate my dinner, I had leisure to consider what I had heard.

My hostess had not purchased her sewing machine of Ed. Dwight, but he had been there to repair it; besides, he always stopped there when making his regular journeys through Clyde. They all liked Dwight, the children had declared; he could play the organ, and he sang such funny songs. He could dance, too, "like anything." He lived at Amora, but he had told their mother, when he had paid his last visit, that he intended to sell out his route soon, and go away. He was going into another business.

If Mr. Dwight lived at Amora, then Mrs. Ballou had misunderstood or been misinformed. She was the reverse of stupid, and not likely to err in understanding. If she had been misinformed, had it not been for some purpose?

The machine agent had talked of abandoning his present business, and leaving the country shortly.

If this was true, then it would be well to know where he was going, and what his new occupation was to be.

Before I had finished doing justice to my country dinner, I had decided how to act.

Returning to Larkins' stable I found that he had discovered the cause of my horse's lameness, and listened to his rather patronizing discourse upon the subject of "halts and sprains," with due meekness, as well as a profound consciousness that he had mentally set me down as a city blockhead, shockingly ignorant of "horse lore," and wholly unfit to draw the ribbons over a decent beast.

He had been assisted to this conclusion by a neighboring Clydeite, who, much to my annoyance, had sauntered in, and, recognizing not only the team, but myself, had volunteered the information that:

"Them was Dykeman's bays," and that I was "a rich city fellow that was stayin' at Trafton;" he had "seen me at the hotel the last time he hauled over market stuff."

Having ascertained my position in the mind of Mr. Larkins, I consulted him as to the propriety of driving the bays over to Amora and back that afternoon.

Larkins eyed me inquisitively.

"I s'pose then you'll want to get back to Trafton to-night?" he queried.

Yes, I wanted to get back as soon as possible, but if Larkins thought it imprudent to drive so far with the team, I would take fresh horses, if he had them to place at my disposal. And then, having learned from experience that ungratified curiosity, especially the curiosity of the country bumpkin with a taste for gossip, is often the detective's worst enemy, I explained that I had learned that the distance to Baysville was greater than I had supposed, and I had decided to drive over to Amora to make a call upon an acquaintance who was in business there.

Mr. Larkins manifested a desire to know the name of my Amora acquaintance, and was promptly enlightened.

I wanted to call on Mr. Ed. Dwight, of sewing machine fame.

And now I was the helpless victim in the hands of the ruthless and inquisitive Larkins.

He knew Ed. Dwight "like a book." Ed. always "put up" with him, and he was a "right good fellow, any way you could fix it." In short, Larkins was ready and willing to act as my pilot to Amora; he had "got a flyin' span of roans," and would drive me over to Amora in "less than no time"; he "didn't mind seeing Ed. himself," etc., etc.

There was no help for it. Larkins evidently did not intend to trust his roans to my unskilled hands, so I accepted the situation, and was soon bowling over the road to Amora, téte-â-téte with the veriest interrogation point in human guise that it was ever my lot to meet.

Larkins did not converse; he simply asked questions. His interest in myself, my social and financial standing, my occupation, my business or pleasure in Trafton, my past and my future, was something surprising considering the length, or more properly the brevity of our acquaintance.

Even my (supposed) relatives, near and remote, came in for a share of his generous consideration.

To have given unsatisfactory answers would have been to provoke outside investigation.

A detective's first care should be to clear up all doubt or uncertainty concerning himself. Let an inquisitive person think that he knows a little more of your private history than do his neighbors, and you disarm him; he has now no incentive to inquiry. He may ventilate his knowledge very freely, but by so doing he simply plays into your hands.

If the scraps of family history, which I dealt out to Larkins during that drive, astonished and edified that worthy, they would have astonished and edified my most intimate friend none the less.

By the time we had reached our destination, I was bursting with merriment, and he, with newly acquired knowledge.

I had made no attempt to extract information concerning Ed. Dwight, on the route. I hoped soon to interview that gentleman in propriæ personæ, and any knowledge not to be gained from the interview I could "sound" for on the return drive.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A SEWING MACHINE AGENT.

Larkins, who seemed very much at home, threw open the street door; we turned to the right, and were almost instantly standing in a large, shabbily-furnished parlor.

Two of the aforementioned faces, carried on the shoulders of two blowzy-looking young women, were vanishing through a rear door, through which the tones of the violin sounded louder and shriller than before. Three occupants still remained in the room, and to one of these, evidently the "landlady," Larkins addressed himself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Cole. We want to see Ed. I hear his fiddle, so I s'pose he can be seen?"

Proffering us two hard, uninviting chairs, Mrs. Cole vanished, and, through the half-closed door, we could hear her voice, evidently announcing our presence, but the violin and "Lannigan's Ball" went on to the end. Like another musical genius known to fame, Mr. Dwight evidently considered "music before all else."

With the last note of the violin came the single syllable, "Eh?" in a voice not unpleasant, but unnecessarily loud.

Mrs. Cole repeated her former sentence; there was the sound of some one rising, quick steps crossed the floor and, as the door swung inward to admit Mr. Dwight, I advanced quickly and with extended hand.

When he halted before me, however, I stepped back in feigned surprise and confusion.