Two weeks later found Frank up in New York State, in the vicinity of Middletown. Business had been fair with him, but in three towns he had visited he had run across other book agents, and he learned that the territory had been well canvassed six months before.

“I must strike out for some new place,” he told himself, and reached Middletown on a Wednesday afternoon, and put up at a hotel on one of the side streets.

Middletown is a place of about twenty thousand inhabitants, and the young book agent soon took several orders which were very encouraging.

One evening he was at the depot, inquiring about trains to Goshen, when a train from Port Jervis rolled in. A number of passengers alighted and got on, and he watched the scene, which was an animated one.

Many of the windows of the cars were open, and as the train moved away from the station he looked at the people sitting in the seats. In the smoker was a man whom he recognized.

“Gabe Flecker!” he murmured, and looked again to make certain that he was not mistaken. “It is that rascal, I am sure! I ought to stop him!”

Frank did not know what to do, and before he could make up his mind the train was out of sight, on its way to New York. Our hero scratched his head in perplexity.

“If it was really Gabe Flecker I ought to have him arrested. But if I telegraph ahead and it is all a mistake what will I do then?” And as he could not answer the latter question, he determined to do nothing.

In the meantime, totally unconscious of the fact that he had been recognized, Gabe Flecker sat back in his seat enjoying an Havana cigar. As the reader already knows he was one of that large class of men, who, having no ostensible means of support, are compelled to live “by their wits.”

Funds were growing low with Gabe Flecker. The money he had raised upon Sinclair Basswood’s autograph was practically gone and so far no new scheme for raising more had materialized.

He had spent all of the funds in “having a good time,” as he called it. Board bills remained unpaid, and why will be told in the pages to follow.

He was now stopping at a very fine private boarding house in Goshen, kept by a Mrs. Larkspur. He had come there with two trunks, which he had picked up at a bargain sale, and which contained only a few suits of old clothing of little or no value.

“I wish the best room in the house,” he had said, on introducing himself, and Mrs. Larkspur, impressed by his manner, had allowed him to have the second floor front, with board, at ten dollars per week. Gabe Flecker had now occupied the room for two weeks. As he had not yet given the landlady a cent of money she was beginning to grow anxious.

He had had several things sent to the house, for which she had paid, so he really owed her twenty-four dollars all told.

“I will present him with the bill to-night,” Mrs. Larkspur told herself, and wrote out the bill in due form.

“Good-evening, Mrs. Larkspur, a beautiful evening,” said Gabe Flecker, as he came into the house in the brisk fashion he could assume when necessary.

“Yes, it is a fine evening, Mr. Flecker,” answered the landlady.

“Never saw a finer day in my life. I hope you haven’t kept the table waiting for me?”

“Yes, all of the others have finished eating.”

“Too bad! Really, I’ll have to be more prompt in the future.”

“Oh, I don’t mind a little delay.”

“It isn’t fair on such a hard-working woman as yourself, Mrs. Larkspur. But, to tell the truth, I could not help it. I had to close up a land deal this afternoon, or else lose a commission amounting to three hundred and twenty-five dollars.” Gabe Flecker now pretended to be a real-estate agent, although he had never handled a foot of land in his life.

Mrs. Larkspur was impressed, and as Gabe Flecker seemed to be tired out she resolved to let the matter of his board bill rest until morning.

“I mustn’t let him know I am too anxious for my money,” she reasoned. “If I do that, he may go elsewhere. Perhaps he’ll pay up of his own accord when he gets that commission he mentioned.”

Bright and early on the following morning Frank went to Goshen to see if he could take orders for any books in that thriving town. He visited several stores and then came to the corner upon which Mrs. Larkspur’s boarding house was located.

“Perhaps I can sell a set of famous novels in there,” he thought, and ascending the stone steps, rang the bell.

“What is it?” asked a new servant girl, who came to the door.

“Is Mrs. Larkspur in?” he asked, having seen the name on the door plate.

“Yes, sir. Please step in the reception room and I’ll call her,” answered the girl.

Frank entered the room indicated and sat down. In the meantime the girl, thinking Mrs. Larkspur had gone to the kitchen, hurried off in that direction.

Now, as it happened, the landlady had caught Gabe Flecker in the hallway a moment before, on his way out. She had presented her bill and intimated pretty strongly that she would like to have it paid without delay.

“Very well, I’ll pay it, madam,” said the swindler. “I will go upstairs and get the money. Wait a moment till I bring it down, if you please.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Larkspur, much pleased with her boarder’s readiness, and she waited in the parlor for him to come down again.

A few minutes later Gabe Flecker came rushing down into the parlor with an excited manner and a flushed face.

“Goodness, Mr. Gibson, what is the matter?” questioned the alarmed landlady. To her he had introduced himself as Ralph Gibson, from Rochester.

“Matter? Matter enough, madam! I had laid aside fifty dollars in one of my trunks only yesterday, and to-day it is gone—every dollar of it is gone!”

“Is it possible!” ejaculated Mrs. Larkspur, in dismay.

“Yes, madam, and what makes matters worse, there can be no doubt but what the money was stolen!”

“Stolen—in my house! Oh, Mr. Gibson, don’t say that!”

“But I do say it!” came loftily from Gabe Flecker. “Would you like to know what proof I have?”

“Yes,” was the apprehensive answer.

“Here, madam, here. Do you see that?”

Gabe Flecker exhibited a small key attached to a piece of black tape.

“That, madam, I found on the carpet, just in front of my trunk. It is undoubtedly the instrument with which the thief unlocked my trunk. In his, or her, haste to retire with the spoils, it was, I presume, accidentally dropped.”

“I hope, Mr. Gibson, you don’t—don’t suspect that anybody living in my house is a—a—thief?”

“Madam,” was the emphatic reply, “I do. Why not? The money has been stolen. Here is this key. It is very plain, to me.”

Mrs. Larkspur wrung her hands.

“This is dreadful, Mr. Gibson! I cannot believe it!”

“Why, don’t you believe that I lost the money?” demanded the sharper.

“I don’t mean that. I mean I cannot believe that anybody in my house would be a thief.”

“Humph!”

“If this—this gets out in public it will ruin me!” moaned the landlady, who had never had anything go wrong before.

“That is not my affair, Mrs. Larkspur. Still,” Gabe Flecker’s voice took on a softer tone. “I do not wish to make trouble for you, madam.” He paused as if deliberating. “Receipt my bill and give me ten dollars, and I’ll say nothing about it.”

“But I shall say a good deal about it, Mr. Flecker,” came a voice from the doorway, and Frank stepped into the room. From the reception room he had overheard every word that had been said.

“What, you!” stammered the swindler, as he found himself confronted by the young book agent.

“Yes. And you are caught in the act this time, Mr. Flecker.”

“Wha—what does this mean?” faltered Mrs. Larkspur.

“It means that this man is a swindler, madam,” answered Frank.

“A swindler!”

“It is false!” cried Gabe Flecker. “I am an honest man, and my name is Ralph Gibson. This fellow, whoever he may be, is entirely mistaken.”

“Where did you come from?” asked Mrs. Larkspur of Frank.

“I came here to try to sell some books, and the girl told me to wait in the reception room. While waiting, I heard what passed between you and this rascal. I’ve met this man before, and I know all about him. He is a swindler and I can prove it.”

“Then you—you don’t think he lost that money he mentioned?”

“Not a dollar of it.”

“It is true,” howled Gabe Flecker, but at the same time he looked for some means of escaping from the room.

“The first time I met him, he swindled a lady named Mrs. Farley out of a night’s lodging. He told her he had lost ten dollars which he had placed on the mantelpiece.”

“It’s false,” stormed Gabe Flecker, but looked much disconcerted.

“The next time I ran across him he had obtained the autograph of an ex-mayor named Sinclair Basswood. He told Mr. Basswood he wanted the autograph to place in a valuable collection, but instead he turned the autograph into the signature on a check for sixty-five dollars. Mr. Basswood offered fifty dollars reward for the capture of the rascal. I’m going to win that reward if I can.”

“Are you?” sneered Gabe Flecker. “Not much!” And leaping at Frank he hurled him aside and ran for the front door.

For the moment, our hero was taken off his guard, while Mrs. Larkspur let out a loud scream which brought all the servants in the house to the scene.

But Frank was quick to recover, and picking up a sea shell which lay handy, he hurled it at Gabe Flecker’s head. His aim was true, and the swindler was caught in the ear, and let out a cry of pain. Before he could unfasten the front door Frank had him by the arm.

“Stop, or it will be the worse for you, Gabe Flecker,” he said, earnestly, and raised his fist to strike.

By this time a man who had come to the back door to sell vegetables appeared, followed by two girls. The man caught Flecker by the other arm.

“Let go of me!” cried the swindler. “I tell you it is all a mistake. If you have me arrested I’ll prove that I am innocent, and have you locked up for false imprisonment.”

“Mrs. Larkspur, have you a telephone in the house?” asked Frank.

“Yes.”

“Then kindly call up the police. I’ll have the man locked up on my own responsibility.”

“You are perfectly sure of what you are doing?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Then I’ll send in the call,” said the landlady, and did so at once.