"If Hare gets his chance to-night," he meditated out loud, "you can rely
on him to make the most of it. He'll make good; he's a man, sound in
wind and limb, head and heart. I do wish, though, he wasn't so--somehow
innocent--so easy--so confoundedly affable and handshaking with
everybody that comes along. There's a sneaky-looking stranger at the
hotel--rubber-heeled fellow named Higginson, with one of these black
felt hats pulled down over his eyes like a stage villain--that Hare
never laid eyes on till to-day. For all he knows the man may be an agent
of Ryan's, a hired spy imported to--By Jove! That's just what he is,
I'll bet!" he cried suddenly; and after a frowning pause, hurried warmly
on: "Don't you remember last night, just after we hit the town, I said
there was a man following us--sneaked up the alley when he saw me
looking at him?"

"I believe I do, Peter. But the fact is that I met so many exciting
people last night--"

"It's the same man--it was Higginson!" said Peter positively. "I'm sure
of it! I didn't get a look at his face last night, but it's the same
hat, same figure--everything. I'll bet anything he's on Ryan's payroll;
and there's little Hare hobnobbing with him as friendly as though they'd
been classmates at college! That kind of free-for-all geniality doesn't
go, you know! A reformer in a rotten town like this," said Peter
vehemently "would do well to cultivate a profound distrust of
strangers."

Varney burst out laughing.

"You yourself have known Hare from the cradle, I believe?"