asked,--"as though he were afraid of something happening?"

Mr. Coulson shook his head.

"No more than usual," he answered. "I guess your police over here
aren't quite so smart as ours, or they'd have been on the track
of this thing before now. But you can take it from me that when
the truth comes out you'll find that our poor friend has paid the
penalty of going about the world like a crank."

"A what?" Somerfield asked doubtfully.

"A crank," Mr. Coulson repeated vigorously. "It wasn't much I
knew of Hamilton Fynes, but I knew that much. He was one of those
nervous, stand-off sort of persons who hated to have people talk
to him and yet was always doing things to make them talk about
him. I was over in Europe with him not so long ago, and he went
on in the same way. Took a special train to Dover when there
wasn't any earthly reason for it; travelled with a valet and a
courier, when he had no clothes for the valet to look after, and
spoke every European language better than his courier. This time
the poor fellow's paid for his bit of vanity. Naturally, any one
would think he was a millionaire, travelling like that. I guess
they boarded the train somehow, or lay hidden in it when it
started, and relieved him of a good bit of his savings."

"But his money was found upon him," Somerfield objected.

"Some of it," Mr. Coulson answered,--"some of it. That's just
about the only thing that I do know of my own. I happened to see