The detective had been at work the better part of a week, without any one in Bellemore suspecting his identity or business.  On the afternoon of the day in which Tom Gordon checked the runaway pony of Miss Warmore, the detective dropped into the store, as any stranger might have done, made a few trifling purchases, and then turned and walked out.  As he did so, he managed to pass close to the proprietor, who was standing at the front, and whispered:—­

“It isn’t Gordon; I’ll see you to-night.”

Mr. Warmore was strolling homeward, swinging the heavy cane which he always carried, when, in passing a small stretch of woods just beyond the outskirts of the town, a man stepped from among the trees with the stealth of a shadow and waited for him to approach.  The merchant hesitated a moment in doubt of his identity, but the other spoke in a low voice,—­

“It’s all right; come on.”

“I wasn’t quite sure,” remarked Mr. Warmore, turning aside among the trees, where he could talk with the detective without the possibility of being seen or overheard.

“Well,” said the merchant in a guarded voice, “what is it?”

“It was a dirty piece of business to throw suspicion on that young Gordon.  He is as innocent as you or I.”

“What did you learn about him?”

“You told me of that mortgage which he paid off for the farmer where he has lived so long.”

“Yes; there is no doubt of the truth of that.”

“He has been in your employ for four or five years.  You tell me he is saving, and has no bad habits.  So the paying of such a small mortgage ought not to be impossible.”

“By no means.”

“Nor would it be strange if he had a nest-egg in the savings-bank?”

“Knowing him as well as I do, I would be surprised if such was not the fact.  There is no one in the world dependent on him, and his wages are liberal.  But what about Wall Street and the races?”

“He has never risked a dollar there, I am sure of it.”

“I had my doubts, but Catherwood told me he had positive information.”

“He simply lied to you—­that’s all.  Have you found how this money is taken from you?  Does it disappear through the day,—­that is, is it missing at night in making up the accounts, or is the money short in the morning?”

“It has happened in both ways.”

“You do not keep a private watchman?”

“We have one who passes along the front every half hour or so, and looks in to see if the light is burning, and everything is right.  Two of the clerks sleep overhead, so it would seem that such a thing as burglary is out of the question.”

“Can you get me inside the store to-night without being seen?”

“I guess I can manage it,” replied the merchant in surprise.

“How would you like to go with me?  There will be no personal danger.  I will see to that.”

“What time of the night do you wish to enter?”