“There will be no more money.  This ends everything between us.”

“I thought you were game, Di.  But you’re as weak as the ordinary feminine creation.”

She did not answer, but stood motionless, a defiant expression upon her face.  He laughed a little, bowed mockingly, and went away.

CHAPTER XIV

A COOL ENCOUNTER

On leaving the house Mershone buttoned his overcoat tightly up to his chin, for the weather was cold and raw, and then shot a quick glance around him.  Diana’s suspect was still lounging on the corner.  Charlie had little doubt he was watching the house and the movements of its in-mates—­a bad sign, he reflected, with a frown.  Otherwise the street seemed deserted.

He had dismissed the cab on his arrival, so now he stepped out and walked briskly around the corner, swinging his cane jauntily and looking very unlike a fugitive.  In the next block he passed a youth who stood earnestly examining the conventional display in a druggist’s window.

Mershone, observing this individual, gave a start, but did not alter his pace.  It was the same pale, red-haired boy he had noticed twice before at the hotel.  In his alert, calculating mind there was no coincidence in this meeting.  Before he had taken six more steps Mershone realized the exact situation.

At the next crossing he stopped and waited patiently for a car.  Up the street he still saw the youth profoundly interested in drugs—­a class of merchandise that seldom calls for such close inspection.  The car arrived and carried Mershone away.  It also left the red-haired youth at his post before the window.  Yet on arriving at the Bruxtelle some twenty minutes later Charlie found this same queer personage occupying a hotel chair in the lobby and apparently reading a newspaper with serious attention.

He hesitated a moment, then quietly walked over to a vacant chair beside the red-haired one and sat down.  The youth turned the paper, glanced casually at his neighbor, and continued reading.

“A detective, I believe,” said Mershone, in a low, matter of fact tone.

“Who? me?” asked Fogerty, lowering the paper.

“Yes.  Your age deceived me for a time.  I imagined you were a newsboy or a sporting kid from the country; but now I observe you are older than you appear.  All sorts of people seem to drift into the detective business.  I suppose your present occupation is shadowing me.”

Fogerty smiled.  The smile was genuine.

“I might even be a lawyer, sir,” he replied, “and in that case I should undertake to cross-examine you, and ask your reasons for so queer a charge.”

“Or you might be a transient guest at this hotel,” the other returned, in the same bantering tone, “for I saw you at breakfast and luncheon.  Pretty fair chef here, isn’t he?  But you didn’t stick to that part, you know.  You followed me up-town, where I made a call on a relative, and you studied the colored globes in a druggist’s window when I went away.  I wonder why people employ inexperienced boys in such important matters.  In your case, my lad, it was easy enough to detect the detective.  You even took the foolish chance of heading me off, and returned to this hotel before I did.  Now, then, is my charge unfounded?”