went there. By his knowledge of late events in Mona I should imagine that he perhaps lives here, but has recently been to New York, or else has an accomplice there—a woman—who rewrote and remailed the letter for him."

[Pg 62]

At breakfast we contrived to keep the waitress busy filling orders, for we wished to discuss our affairs and had no mind to be overheard. Oakes had prepared the proprietor for Moore's arrival, saying he expected him at any time; so his coming excited no particular attention. While the girl was out, the doctor narrated his morning's experience as far as the walk up the hill. We addressed Oakes as Clark, as had been previously agreed.

"Did Martin follow you?" asked the detective.

"Yes, I saw him ascending the hill after me."

Our leader thought a moment. "Curious! Why has he not made himself visible here? The chances are you were mistaken, Moore."

"Oh, no. I feel confident it was Martin."

We left the cheerless, low-ceiled dining-room and walked out into the corridor, where the porter was [Pg 63]mopping the floor, and the cigar-stand opening for business.

[Pg 63]

I went over and bought something to smoke. Moore took one, but Oakes refused. That meant he was worried, and not at his ease. Presently the doctor remarked: "Seems to be shooting around here."

"How? What do you mean?" asked Oakes.

"Yes, I heard a shot when I was in the wagon. The milkman said it was poachers on the Mark property."

Oakes wheeled and regarded Moore austerely.

"You heard shooting on the Mark grounds? Why did you not say so? You tell a poor story."

At this moment we heard a commotion outside, and the cry: "A runaway!"

We all stepped to the sidewalk, where a few early risers had gathered, and looked down the road. Coming over the crest of the hill from the station was a milk-wagon, rushing along at a terrific rate. The horses were leaping, with heads hung low. The smashing of cans was audible, even at the 

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