The saloon of Billy Bowlegs was a low resort, and Detective Keene realized that it was not a safe place for a member of his profession were he recognized by any of the law-breakers who frequented the place.

The detective was deeply puzzled with regard to August Bordine. He could not remove from his mind the idea that the young engineer was the same man who visited that woman, his wife, apparently, in another part of the city. It seemed that the young man was playing a double game.

"He has befriended me, and I will not move against him until I make sure, hereafter," thought Keene. "He has an estimable mother, and it seems a shame that he should be such a villain. It will break her heart, I believe, when she comes to know what a scoundrel she has for a son. I will investigate this mixed state of affairs thoroughly before I jump at conclusions. It is barely possible that I was a little premature last night."

The detective wandered about the city in disguise during the greater part of the day, but made no discoveries, save only that he saw the tramp, Perry Jounce, pass down and enter Bowleg's saloon in the early part of the day.

Late in the afternoon an elderly looking gentleman, in the office of the
Golden Lion, purchased an evening paper and began perusing the locals.

"RUNAWAY.

"While Mr. August Bordine was driving down the street, near the depot, his horse became frightened at a passing train and ran. Mr. Bordine was hurled out against a telegraph pole and severely injured. He was removed to his home by a friend. At the hour of going to press we have not been able to obtain further particulars."

After reading this, the old gentleman came to his feet.

He passed from the hotel, and turned his steps in the direction of the
Bordine cottage.

In a little time he was ringing the door-bell.

"You wish to see my son?" queried the old lady who opened the door.

"Yes."

"He is not able to see visitors."

"He is badly hurt, then?"

"Mother, tell the gentleman to come in," called a voice from the cozy front room, and so the visitor was permitted to go before the engineer.

"Ah, beg pardon, but I thought that it was a friend," uttered the pale young man, who sat in the great armchair, propped by pillows.

"My voice sounded familiar?"

"Yes."

"And I am a friend," cried the old gentleman, at the same time removing hat and wig.

"Silas Keene!" exclaimed Bordine.

"Good lord, who'd a thought it?" interjected the motherly widow, with upraised hands.

"Only a bit of disguise," laughed the detective. "I adopt such frequently. It sometimes becomes highly necessary you know, Mr. Bordine."

"I suppose so."

"I saw a notice of your injury in the evening paper and hastened here at once."

"Thanks. You are very kind," returned the young engineer. "I assure you it is nothing serious, but may lay me on the stocks for a day or two. I meant to assist you to-night, but, as you see, now, it is wholly out of the question."

"Certainly."

"Have you made any discoveries?"

"None of consequence."

"We are no nearer the solution of the murder mystery than ever," muttered Bordine. "I think, if you succeed in arresting Perry Jounce, you may wring something from him. He is a low villain, and would as lief commit a murder as eat."

"Yes. I mean to look after the scoundrel to-night."

"Don't attempt to do anything alone, Keene."

"I think there is little danger."

"But that tramp may have discovered his mistake by this time. He undoubtedly mistook me for another person, as you did last night."

"True."

The detective eyed the engineer keenly.

If this young man was a dissembler he was certainly a keen one.

"You will be on your guard?"

"Certainly," with a smile. "I have trailed too many criminals to their lair to fear now."

"One thing more," as the detective rose to go. "I want you to consider my house open to you at all times during your stay in Grandon."

"Thank you. I will not forget it."

And then the detective was gone.

"What a strange man," remarked Mrs. Bordine.

"Yes," agreed August. "I have heard of him as a great detective, and I hope that he will prove his name good in this instance. Surely it does seem as though this murder mystery might be cleared up. Of course there may be no evidence to convict him, yet it seems plain to me that Perry Jounce, the tramp, is the guilty man."

"I should think they'd arrest him at any rate."

"I am of the opinion that it would be good policy."

In the meantime Silas Keene had resumed his disguise and returned to the Golden Lion. He remained here until after darkness fell, then, going outside, he secreted a revolver and set of handcuffs on his person, and congratulated himself that he was ready to pay the saloon of Billy Bowlegs a visit.

He counseled with a member of the police force afterward.

"I'm going to make an onset to-night, at Bowleg's saloon, and I want you to be within call in case I should need you," explained the detective, at the same time revealing his badge of office. "There's money in it if you're alert, my friend."

What member of the force could resist such an inducement?

Silas Keene sauntered down the narrow street leading to the saloon in question, paused for a moment on the threshold, then passed in.

Soon a man in blue halted in the shadows without, and waited developments. He expected that the detective would soon give the signal for assistance, but the police officer waited in vain.

Slowly the minutes passed.

An hour drew its length along, and then, becoming impatient, the man of clubs walked into the saloon.

Two men were drinking at the bar, and from beyond a screen came the sound of voices, where numerous gamesters were engaged in play.

Billy Bowlegs was himself behind the bar. He seemed to recognize the officer, for he nodded and set out a decanter of brandy and shoved it toward him.

After drinking the officer said:

"An old gentleman entered a short time since. I had my eye on him, and would like to see him."

"Man with long hair, and one eye?"

"No. A real gentleman, with gray hair and beard."

"Seems 's though I do remember seeing such a chap," uttered the barkeeper. "How long ago was it?"

"Nearly an hour."

"Probably he went away."

"Not by the front door."

"Eh! Then you've been watching him? Suspicious character, eh?"

"Yes."

"You can look through the rooms."

Billy Bowlegs led the way behind the screen.

Half a dozen men sat playing at the tables, as many more smoking and reclining on settees at the side of the room.

The air was thick with smoke, yet the keen glance of the police officer showed that his friend, the detective, was not present.

"Strange!" muttered the officer.

"He doubtless went out the side door," and Billy Bowlegs pointed to a narrow door at the side of the room.

"Possibly."

The officer was not the brightest member of the force, and believing that he had been sold by the old man who had pretended to be a detective, the guardian of the night returned to the bar-room, partook or another horn of brandy, and then passed out upon the street.

"Sold!" he muttered, angrily, as he strode from the dangerous vicinity.

Meantime what had occurred to detain Silas Keene so long?