for him since he had joined the show. Problems great and small lay before him for solving. It was like a lesson in algebra. There was the problem of boxing the bear. His ability to solve that problem would be tested all too soon, on the day after to-morrow. In some small city he would have his try-out. Depending upon the successful solving of this problem was the other and more important one, that of the ring. Who had it? Millie, the bareback rider, Mitzi, the trapeze performer, or Gwen, the dancing queen of the tight wire? Thus far he had not the slightest clue. If one of them had it, she never had worn it while Johnny was in sight. Could it be that the one in possession of it suspected him of seeking it? That did not seem probable.

“And yet,” he reflected, “stranger things have happened. She may have seen me make that foolhardy dash for it when the elephant flicked it from the chain.”

But at once his mind swept on to the third and most important problem of all—Pant’s problem, the problem of the counterfeit bonds. Pant had named three men who might be responsible, the conman of the ragged ear, the midget clown, the steam kettle cook. Johnny Thompson was one of the kind of fellows who, when they recognize a great and important problem, set themselves to solving it, leaving all minor difficulties to take care of themselves. As he lay there now, he realized that Pant’s problem had already become his; that for the time being, the ring might be all but forgotten. And yet he hoped that, as the more important and difficult problem was being solved, this one of lesser importance would work itself out.

“Well, anyway,” he mumbled, half rising, “my success at boxing the bear comes first, for unless I put that stunt across, I will have precious little chance to discover the whereabouts of the ring, or to help Pant run down the counterfeiter. To-morrow’s my last day of training. Me for my bunk.”

But just as he was about to get upon his feet he checked himself and sank back in his place. A vision had struck his eye—a vision of lithe wonder and beauty. It was dancing along a silver wire.

It was Gwen, Queen of the circus. The great tent was totally dark, save for the corner where she practiced. She had arranged a spot light in such a manner that its brilliant rays struck squarely across the tightly drawn wire, and there in that light, which was flashed back by her brilliant costume and her tossing umbrella, she was performing all unconscious that anyone was watching her.

Johnny Thompson 

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