“What do you know about these counterfeits?  Come, it is best that you tell me everything,” he continued kindly, but firmly.

“To—­Tom had a counterfeit one hundred dollar bill.  He—­we went to the theatre and he got into some trouble over it, until he convinced the ticket seller that he did not know it was bad.”

“Did he tell you where he got the bill?”

“No, he said he got stuck, that’s all.”

“Do you know what he did with it?”

“He said he was going to give it back and get a good one for it, if he could.”

At that moment a postman’s whistle sounded in the hallway and several letters dropped through the slit in the door.  The girl glanced at them, and uttering a faint cry, arose and picked them up.

“Here is one from Tom now.”  She tore it open and glanced at it hastily.  “I knew it,” she went on.  “He is all upset because of the murder and scarcely knows what to do.  He had an important engagement in Albany for yesterday and one in New York for to-day, but has broken both.  He says he will come to me as soon as he can, and adds a postscript asking me to look in the papers for the particulars of the awful affair.  You read it, Uncle Adam.  That doesn’t look much as if he were guilty, does it?”

The detective took the communication and scanned it with care.  It had evidently been penned in a hurry and was signed, “Your own Tom.”  One line read:  “I hope with all my heart that the authorities bring the guilty party to justice.”

“How could he pen that if he was guilty himself?” said Letty, pointing to the line.  “Oh, Uncle Adam, you must look elsewhere for the one who did this foul deed.”

“I wish I knew where he got that counterfeit?”

“Perhaps I can find out for you.”

“Can you tell me where he stays when in New York?”

“At the Kingdon House, on Broadway.”

“Then I may look him up.”

“Cannot I do something?”

“Yes—­wait and keep quiet, Letty.”

“But you will try to clear him, if you can, won’t you?”

“I am going to try to find the guilty party.”

“It is dreadful to remain here and do nothing, with such a cloud hanging over one.”

“Then take a vacation.  It will do you good.  Get Miss Harringford to come in here—­she knows the ropes—­and you go off in the country or to the seashore.  I’ll make you an allowance of fifty dollars for the trip.  Take it out of the cash on hand.  And, Letty, don’t worry too much.”

The girl smiled, but it was not a smile to please one.  “Very well, I’ll go off,” she said, and turned back to her desk.  “I’ll take the time off to help clear poor Tom,” she murmured to herself.

CHAPTER XVI

SOMETHING ABOUT A SECRET SERVICE MAN