and shadow these spotters.

"There is a new hundred-dollar bill ready for you when you find
who they are, and where they come from, and who they report to.
You can keep hovering around at a safe distance, and never address
or notice me. Spend what money you like in following my evening
rounds. I'll repay it all. I am going to lead them a merry dance.
Every day, before I leave the office, I will give you a different
rendezvous, up to midnight. You are simply to hover around, ignore
me, and then skilfully shadow my pursuers."

The service of the Western Trading Company now galled Randall
Clayton like the galley slave's chain. And yet Jack Witherspoon's
counsel had been most wise. For Clayton knew not who had replaced
the treacherous Ferris in that secret espionage, so necessary to
Worthington until the great "deal" had been consummated.

"Lies, lies, all lies," muttered Clayton, as he read the friendly,
almost fatherly, letters of Hugh Worthington announcing his intended
tour around the world. "The old fox," sneered Clayton, as he read
the "rider" to the capitalist's letter.

"Ferris will have my power of attorney, and he alone will communicate
with me. If Alice's health demands it, I may vary my route and look
around in the Sierras, or take the summer run to Alaska. I fear
the heat of the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea. But all will depend
upon the doctors and their advice.

"Report only to Ferris as to any thing you wish to reach me. He
will have my private cipher. All the rest is mere routine."