The detective, as he left the reading room, passed Rupert, who was just entering.

"Let me see," he said, tapping Rupert on the shoulder, "you are the bell-boy who came near being murdered by a crank?"

"Yes, sir."

"You escaped very cleverly. You are evidently a sharp boy. Keep your eyes open, don't you?"

"Yes, sir; except when I'm asleep."

"We detectives have to keep our eyes open all the time, but we can't be everywhere at once. Now I feel a little inclined to make you my deputy—not permanently, but for a time."

"All right, sir."

"Have you noticed rather a flashy young man, looking like a dude, with an eyeglass and cane?"

"Yes, sir; he is frequently in the hotel."

"You know, of course, that he isn't a guest?"

"Yes, sir. We bell-boys know who are guests and who are not."

"Possibly you may have wondered what his business is here?"

"Yes, sir."

"He is a confidence man. His business is to pick up victims, and make what he can out of them. Do you see that old gentleman over by the window?"

"Yes, sir."

"He is an honest and probably well-to-do old farmer, I judge. That fellow has been having a talk with him. When he saw me he had business elsewhere. But he hasn't given up his scheme for bleeding the old man. Probably he will have another interview with him to-morrow. Now I should like to have you keep your eye on the two. Find out if you can what the man is after. I can't, for he knows me by sight. I want to foil his schemes and save the old man from loss. Here is my address."

The detective placed in Rupert's hand a small, plain card, bearing the name,

RICHARD DARKE.

Below he put his address, which need not be given here.

"Don't say anything about this," he said, "except to me. Should you mention it to anyone else in the hotel the fellow would soon see that he was watched, and we might fail to catch him. I am reposing considerable confidence in a boy."

"Yes, sir, but you will not regret it."

"I believe you," said the detective, cordially. "I'll see you again soon."

"One moment, Mr. Darke. What is the young man's name?"

"He has several. The one he uses most frequently is Clarence Clayton."

"I will remember it, sir."

Clarence Clayton left the Somerset Hotel in good spirits. He felt like an angler who was on the point of landing a fine fish.

"I wonder if old Darke saw me talking with that old Granger," he soliloquized. "I hope not. Probably he knows me, though thus far I have escaped having my picture in the Rogues' Gallery. Those old fellows know everybody. Fortunately there is no regular detective at the Somerset, and I shall be able to finish my negotiations with my country friend before he drops in again."

Mr. Clarence Clayton was getting low in funds. Somehow fortune had not favored him of late, and the sums he had realized out of recent victims were very small. Yet he felt so confident of success in the present instance that he sauntered up to the Sinclair House, at the corner of Broadway and Eighth Street, and going into the restaurant, which has a high reputation for choice viands, he ordered an appetizing repast at a cost of a dollar.

He was scarcely half through when a young man, got up in very much the same style, came in and sat down opposite him.

"Ha, Clayton!" he said, "so you're in luck."

"How do, Mortimer? What makes you think so?"

"Your extravagant spread. It isn't permitted to failures like your humble servant to dine in such princely style."

"Then why come here at all?"

"I am only going to order fish balls and coffee, but I want those good, and shall get them good here. Have you made a ten-strike?"

"No; business is dull with me, but I think I'm on the track of a fair thing."

"What is it, and where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Mortimer?" said Clarence, putting one finger waggishly on one side of his nose. "There isn't enough in it for two."

"Oh, I don't want to interfere with you, of course. I thought I'd like to know whereabouts you are operating at present."

"What do you say to the Windsor Hotel?"

"Isn't that rash? Don't the detective know you?"

"He can't be everywhere, the worthy man. Your friend Clarence knows what he is about. You won't interfere with me?"

"Of course not."

In spite of this assurance Mortimer made it in his way to drop into the Windsor Hotel later in the evening, but of course he did not see Clarence Clayton, who had put him on the wrong scent.

A good dinner was not the end of Clayton's extravagance. He dropped into the Star Theatre, and enjoyed an attractive play, though it cost him a dollar.

"Josiah Onthank will pay for it, I hope," he said, for he had ascertained from the hotel register the name of his Orange County friend. "It will cost something," he laughed, "to get his son into my office in Wall Street. Oh, Clarence, you're a sly one, you are!"

Rupert was free from his duties at seven o'clock, but, remembering the commission he had received, he sought out the farmer and opened a conversation with him.

"How do you like New York?" he asked.

"It's a big city," answered the farmer. "I haven't been here before for twenty years."

"Have you ever traveled on the Elevated cars?"

"No, I'm a little mite afeard to travel so high in the air. Suppose the train should go through?"

"I don't think there's any danger, sir. The road is strongly built."

"I s'pose I'm timid, but I guess I won't ventur'. My son Ephraim wouldn't mind. I came to the city mostly on his account. He wanted me to see if there wasn't an opening here. He's got sick of the farm and wants to be a city man. Are you at work here?"

"Yes, I'm a bell-boy in this hotel."

"Does it pay you well?"

"Yes, sir. I get five dollars a week and my board."

"That's good for a boy like you. It's more than I pay my hired man, and he's twenty-eight. Is your work hard?"

"I have to run upstairs and down a good deal. I got pretty tired at first."

"I met quite a slick young man here this afternoon; he says he's a broker in Wall Street. He knows how to make money."

"Does he, sir?" inquired Rupert, getting interested.

"Yes; he says he made two hundred dollars last month, and he thinks that pretty small."

"I should think it a good deal to make."

"He doesn't have to work very hard, either. Ephraim would like being a broker. He always did like to dress up, but at home he can't do it till evenin' after he has milked the cows and finished the chores."

"Did the gentleman mention his name to you?"

"Yes, he said his name was Clarence Clayton. He thinks he may be able to take my son Ephraim into his office."

"Did he tell you where his office was?"

"Well, down in Wall Street somewhere. I s'pose there's a good deal of money made in Wall Street."

"And a good deal lost, too," suggested Rupert.

"When are you going to see Mr. Clayton again?"

"To-morrow morning. He's goin' down to show me his office, and he'll think it over whether he can take Ephraim or not."

"I suppose he is a rich man."

"I expect he is. He dresses fine. Ephraim would like to dress that way, but he hasn't the shape for it. I should feel proud to have him doin' as well as Mr. Clayton."

"I hope you won't mind my giving you a little advice, Mr. Onthank, even if I am a boy."

"Go ahead, sonny! I'm sure you mean well."

"Don't make any arrangements with Mr. Clayton to take your son till you have had a chance to talk over the matter with some one. I have a friend, a very experienced man, and I am sure his advice would be worth taking."

"You don't think there's anything wrong about Mr. Clayton, do you?" asked the farmer, startled.

"I don't say that, but if he wants you to pay him some money for giving your son a a place, don't do it till you have mentioned it to me."

"I won't. There won't be no harm in that."

"And don't tell him who it is you are going to consult. Supposing he wasn't all right, it would put him on his guard."

"Thank you, sonny, you are a young boy, but I guess you've got a level head."

"I hope so," laughed Rupert.

"Do you know where there's a good place to take supper—a good country supper? I've been to the hotel eatin' houses, but it don't exactly suit my country taste."

"Yes, Mr. Onthank, I think I can find a place that will suit you."

Rupert took the farmer to a plain restaurant not far away, where he got some cream toast, a good cup of strong tea, and a piece of apple pie.

"That's good," said the farmer, with a sigh of satisfaction. "It's better than all them fancy dishes I get at some places. There ain't nothing like plain home livin'."

Rupert didn't part from Mr. Onthank till nine o'clock, when the farmer expressed a wish to go to bed.

"I always go to bed at nine o'clock when I'm to home," he said. "Folks here in York seem to sit up all night."