“Why should you be under the surveillance of a detective?” asked Fogerty, slowly.

“Really, my boy, I cannot say.  There was an unpleasant little affair last night at the Waldorf, in which I was not personally concerned, but suffered, nevertheless.  An officious deputy caused my arrest and I spent an unpleasant night in jail.  There being nothing in the way of evidence against me I was released this morning, and now I find a detective shadowing me.  What can it all mean, I wonder?  These stupid blunders are very annoying to the plain citizen, who, however innocent, feels himself the victim of a conspiracy.”

“I understand you, sir,” said Fogerty, drily.

For some moments Mershone now remained silent.  Then he asked; “What are your instructions concerning me?”

To his surprise the boy made a simple, frank admission.

“I’m to see you don’t get into more mischief, sir.”

“And how long is this nonsense to continue?” demanded Mershone, showing a touch of anger for the first time.

“Depends on yourself, Mr. Mershone; I’m no judge, myself.  I’m so young—­and inexperienced.”

“Who is your employer?”

“Oh, I’m just sent out by an agency.”

“Is it a big paying proposition?” asked Charlie, eyeing the diffident youth beside him critically, as if to judge his true caliber.

“Not very big.  You see, if I’d been a better detective you’d never have spotted me so quickly.”

“I suppose money counts with you, though, as it does with everyone else in the world?”

“Of course, sir.  Every business is undertaken to make money.”

Mershone drew his chair a little nearer.

“I need a clever detective myself,” he announced, confidentially.  “I’m anxious to discover what enemy is persecuting me in this way.  Would it—­er—­be impossible for me to employ you to—­er—­look after my interests?”

Fogerty was very serious.

“You see, sir,” he responded, “if I quit this job they may not give me another.  In order to be a successful detective one must keep in the good graces of the agencies.”

“That’s easy enough,” asserted Mershone.  “You may pretend to keep this job, but go home and take life easy.  I’ll send you a daily statement of what I’ve been doing, and you can fix up a report to your superior from that.  In addition to this you can put in a few hours each day trying to find out who is annoying me in this rascally manner, and for this service I’ll pay you five times the agency price.  How does that proposition strike you, Mr.—­”

“Riordan.  Me name’s Riordan,” said Fogerty, with a smile.  “No, Mr. Mershone,” shaking his head gravely, “I can’t see my way to favor you.  It’s an easy job now, and I’m afraid to take chances with a harder one.”

Something in the tone nettled Mershone.

“But the pay,” he suggested.

“Oh, the pay.  If I’m a detective fifty years, I’ll make an easy two thousand a year.  That’s a round hundred thousand.  Can you pay me that much to risk my future career as a detective?”