“You don’t need me any more, do you, sir?” asked Dick.

“Is it near your bedtime yet?” smiled the stranger.

“I haven’t had my supper yet,” Prescott smiled.  “Neither has Darrin.”

“Bless me!  What a brute I am to forget a boy’s stomach!” cried the tall one.  “Here,” taking a banknote from his pocket, “I will have the chauffeur drive you back to town and then return for us.  Take this money and get the best supper you can for two, at the best restaurant in Gridley.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Dick, shrinking back; “our parents wouldn’t allow us to do that.”

“Are your parents any easier on such questions?” smiled the stranger, turning to Darrin.

“Not a bit, sir, thank you,” Dave responded.

“I may at least pay you something for your kindness and trouble in coming out here with me,” urged the stranger, still offering the cash.

But both boys shook their heads, declining with thanks.  Neither had been reared to accept money for doing a human kindness.

“If you don’t need us any more,” Dick went on, “we’ll just find the road and jog back.”

“If you won’t accept anything else,” retorted the tall man, “you will at least allow me to send you back in the auto.  And you will also accept the thanks of John Winthrop, and of Colonel Garwood, whom I represent.”

Both boys protested, with thanks, that they were able to get home on their own feet.  Mr. Winthrop, however, insisted on their going in the car.  Truth to tell, both youngsters had used their feet so much that day that they did not object to being taken home.

“I hope you will find your man, sir, and alive,” Dick called, as he and Dave were leaving.

“I believe that we shall,” replied Mr. Winthrop.  “Yet it will be by beginning the search from this point.”

The chauffeur drove them home in good time, for he was under orders to report back to Mr. Winthrop as speedily as possible.

Neither Dick nor Dave had any trouble in getting a late supper served at home.

“You’ve brought home a good tale, as you often do, to pay your mother for her extra trouble,” laughed Mr. Prescott.

“I hope that poor, half-witted fellow didn’t destroy himself in his own fire,” murmured Dick, as he fell to at the meal.

By morning the people of Gridley knew that the ruins of the abandoned water-works cottage had been explored, and that the remains of Amos Garwood had not been found there.

But an editorial in the “Blade” suggested that the cottage was not very likely to have taken fire unless the blaze had been started by Garwood.  While the latter was declared not to be dangerous, the “Blade” hinted that his malady might suddenly have taken a dangerous turn.

“The good people of this section will feel much easier,” concluded the editor, “when they know that Garwood has been found and returned to the sanitarium that awaits him.  A cash reward of twenty-five hundred dollars should be incentive enough to set many people to the task of finding the unfortunate man.”