“Alone?” queried Sam.

“Yes, alone.  But I carried a pistol, and I had it ready for use, too.”

“I don’t blame you,” murmured Dick.  “And I guess you looked to see if the doors were open, too.”

“I did, and smashed out several windows in the bargain.  The first place I investigated was that fireplace, and in it I found this.”  And Tom held up a bit of white paper.  On it was printed: 

  m B. Schlemp
  uggist.
  ain St.

“That is from a druggist,” said Dick.

“Exactly.  I figure out the name is William B. Schlemp, that he is a druggist, and that he is doing business at some number on Main Street,” came from Tom.  “But I figure out more than that.”

“What?”

“The paper was crumpled up, and had in it a few grains of a gray powder.  I set the powder on fire and got that strange vapor that almost strangled us.”

“You did!” cried Sam.  “Then that stuff came from that druggist beyond a doubt.”

“So I figure it.  But there is no druggist named Schlemp here,” went on Tom, “and the druggist here doesn’t know of such a fellow.”

“I know what we can do,” cried Dick.  “Don’t you remember, Dan Baxter said he had worked for a wholesale drug house?  We can telegraph and ask him if he knows of this Schlemp.”

“Then let us do it at once,” said Tom.  “I have his route—­the one he said he was to follow.”

A few minutes later the following message was being flashed over the wires to Dan Baxter, then supposed to be located at Detroit: 

“Send full name and address of Blank B. Schlemp, druggist, at once.  Highly important.

“Thomas Rover,

“Ashton Hotel,”

“That was about all I found at the haunted house that was important,” said Tom after the message had gone.  “But I’ve found out something here that may lead to something else of value.”

“What is that?” questioned Sam.

“There is a fellow hanging around here named Henry Parwick.  He is rather dissipated, and does not seem to work for a living.  One night this Parwick had been drinking pretty freely, and he got into a quarrel with one of his companions.  They taunted each other about money, and Parwick said he had some good friends up to Brill who would give him all the cash he wanted.  The other fellow wanted to know that was, and Parwick winked one eye and answered, ’Oh, there’s a reason, Buddy, a good reason.  They wouldn’t dare to refuse me.’  Since that time I have seen Parwick talking to Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur.”

“Do you think this Parwick helped Koswell and the others in a plot against us?” asked Dick.

“It may be so.  Anyway, I think Parwick has some kind of a hold on Koswell, for I saw Jerry give him some money.”

“This is certainly interesting,” mused Dick.  “Do you suppose we could corner this Parwick and get him to talk?”

“We might, but I have another plan.”