the forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining
cottage, favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the
dwelling. When he returned, after walking a little way down the road, the
door was closed.

Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr. Franklin
as a "millionaire" from South America. Moreover, he scrutinized both in
the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass the financial
potentate with indifference.

Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!

"I was mistook, sir," he reported to Grant later. "There's another 'tec
about, but 'e ain't the chap I met last night. They say this other bloke
is rollin' in money, an' buyin' hosses right an' left."

"Then he'll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money," put in Hart.

"Who is he?" inquired Grant carelessly.

"A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir."

Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained silent
till Bates had gone.

"I must look this joker up, Jack," he said then. "To me the mere mention
of South America is like Mother Gary's chickens to a sailor, a harbinger
of storm."

But Hart consumed Tomlin's best brew to no purpose--in so far as seeing