“Now, don’t keep me in suspense any longer,” begged Mr. Page.  “Take me to him, that I may help decide for myself.”

“If he is your son, sir,” Dick went on solemnly, and hating his task, “I am much afraid that you are going to be disappointed in him.  The boy is known as Tag Mosher.  He believes a dissolute, drunken, thieving fellow named Bill Mosher, who is now in jail, to be his father.  Tag is himself a wild young savage of the forest, and maintains himself by st—–­poaching.”

“If this young man is, indeed, my son,” murmured Mr. Page, his eyes glistening, “how fortunate that I am about to come up with him!  He will have no need to steal hereafter.  He shall have comfort, protection, proper training at last!  But where is he?  Why are you keeping me from him?  How long since you have seen him?”

“Only a few minutes ago,” Dick answered.  “He had just robbed our food supply.  We pursued him, but lost him in the woods.”

“Then these woods must be scoured until the boy is found!” cried Mr. Page.  “Colquitt, this is a task for you.  Employ as many more of your force of detectives as you may need, but you must find the boy without an hour’s delay.”

“I must tell you something else, sir,” Dick went on in a distressed tone.  “Even for my own peace of mind I must have it over with as early as possible.  Mr. Page, the boy is now roaming the woods armed with a shotgun and a revolver.  He is a fugitive from justice.”

“What is that you say?” cried Mr. Page, his face growing haggard and ghastly.  “My boy——­my son—–­a fugitive from justice!”

“He may not be your son, sir,” broke in Tom Colquitt.

Then the whole story came out.  With it Dick described the birthmarks he had seen on Tag when the latter was at the swimming pool.

“That’s my boy—–­my son!” declared Mr. Page.  “And, oh!  To think of the fate that has come upon him.  Wanted, perhaps for homicide!”

Then suddenly the flash of determination returned to the father’s eyes.  He rose, stood erect, and went on: 

“If he is my son, he needs guidance, aid—–­protection of such rights as he may still have left.  Above all, he must surrender himself and go back to face the laws of the land like a man!  If he has done wrong, he must bow to the decision of a court, whatever that may be.  If this boy is my son, I will see to it that he does all of this.  If he is not my son, then-----”

“Then you will do well to drop him like a piece of hot metal,” interposed the detective quietly.

“Silence!” flashed Mr. Page.  “If Tag Mosher is not really my son, then I will stand by his last spark of manhood as though he were my son, and in memory of my own boy!”

“If you will permit me,” proposed Tom Colquitt, “I will go back to the road, get into the car and order your man to drive me to the county jail.  There I will see old Bill Mosher, and drag the truth out of him.  What Mosher has to say will be to the point.”