This proposition of Thorne was not as generous as Worth might have supposed.  There lurked in the former’s mind an indistinct suspicion.  Nay, it was more than a suspicion, and he reasoned that if this man was what he feared he was, he could parry the danger better by having him under his eye, for even now he was concocting a scheme of escape.  On the other hand, Worth had no doubt in his mind that this was the man he was after; but how to proceed was the question that was troubling him.  The words of the Consul still gave him no little concern.  He had plainly intimated that extradition would not be possible as the case stood, and he knew that he could not secure them without the Consul’s recommendation.

That Sunday night was an important point of time in the lives of both these young men.  Some light wine was partaken of in addition to cigars, and each was thinking his own thoughts and forming his own plans even while the conversation was on other subjects.  The bank robbery in London was spoken of, and in the course of the conversation the wreck of the yacht and the drowning of the three young men also were mentioned yet neither subject seemed of much interest, although Thorne remarked that he was well acquainted with them all.

Worth allowed the younger man to lead, and really direct the conversation, being all the while convinced that Thorne was trying to draw him out, trying to find out how much or how little he knew.

It was near midnight when Job undressed and laid down on his bed, with his mind made up that in the morning at breakfast he would arrest Thorne.  The latter continued to sit at a table writing after the detective had retired.

Worth soon slept, and slept soundly.  This was a new experience of late; but when he awoke, to his surprise, it was broad daylight, and yet the gas was still burning brightly.  His head ached, and he raised up and looked in the direction of Thorne’s bed.  It was unoccupied.  The instant thought that something was wrong, that something unusual had transpired aroused him, and he sprang out of bed.  Just then a tap on the door startled him.  “Hello!” he said, “come in.”

A voice replied:  “Can’t come in—­door is locked.  Do you want breakfast?”

Job sprang to his vest, which hung on a chair, to find, by his watch, what time it was; but his watch was not there.  As quickly as possible he dressed himself, and in doing so, he put his hand into a secret pocket where he carried his valuable papers, and pocketbook.  It was empty.  Every paper, even the warrant which the London authorities had issued, authorizing Worth to arrest James Thurston, and his pocket book, containing over a hundred pounds, had disappeared and he was locked in his room.  In the midst of his humiliating astonishment, his eyes rested on a paper neatly folded and addressed to Job Worth, Esq., Bow Street Detective, London, England.  Opening it, he read as follows: