“I saw you at the safe in the library of the mansion.”

“When, now?”

“Now and some hours ago.  You may as well make a clean breast of it.”

“I will, If you will tell me who you are.”

“I am Adam Adams, of New York City.”

The strange man let out a hissing sound between his teeth.  Then of a sudden he gave a wild, unnatural laugh.

“Shake hands, Mr. Adams,” he said, putting out his hand.  “I know you by reputation even if not personally.  You see, your reputation is so much larger than my own.”  He laughed again, a sound which grated on the detective’s nerves.  “I am John S. Watkins, of Bryport.  I am connected with the United States secret service.”

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT CEPHAS CARBOY SAW

There was a brief pause after the man from Bryport made his announcement.  Adam Adams tried hard to see his face clearly, but in the gloom this was impossible.

“Perhaps you do not believe me,” said John Watkins.  “I can easily prove what I say.”

“Why shouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because you were on the point of arresting me, which proves that you took me to be—­something else.”

“How long have you been connected with the secret service?”

“About three years.  That is why I know you so well.”

“Did your work as a secret service man bring you to this place?”

“Excuse me, but that is my business.  If you are working on this case, well and good.  But it is not fair to try to steal any of my thunder.”

“So far as I am concerned you shall get full credit for what you may do on this case, Mr. Watkins,” said Adam Adams stiffly.  “But I should like to understand several points.”

“About the shoes and the shirtwaist, I suppose.  I got the shoes from the house to make certain that some footprints on the bank of the brook had been made by Miss Langmore.”

“What about the shirtwaist?”

“It was there when I came, and I left it there, as it did not seem to have much of a connection with the affair.”

“Do you think you had a right to tamper with the safe in the library?”

“Considering certain circumstances, which I do not intend just now to disclose to you, I think I had a right.”

“Did you take anything from the safe?”

“Not a thing.  In fact, I couldn’t get the safe open.  You must know this, if you saw me a while ago.”

“You opened the door the first time.”

“I do not deny it.  The policeman interrupted me and I shut the box up.  When I came back the combination had gotten away from me.”

There was a pause.

“Where are you stopping, Mr. Watkins, in case I wish to communicate with you again?”

“At Hager’s Hotel, in Sidham.  But I am on the jump nearly all the time,” and the secret service man laughed again.  “Anything else?”