“You know the boy we are looking for?” asked the detective.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are sure this is not the one?”

Andy looked carefully at the child, who had stood in a sort of wonder at the attention he was receiving.

“I am sure,” said Andy, finally, “that this is not Regy Thorne; but he is dressed exactly as Regy was yesterday, or the day before.  I did not see him yesterday.”

“Dressed the same!” said the detective, exchanging meaning glances with his fellow-officer.  “How do you explain that?” he inquired of Andy’s enemy.

“I don’t explain it,” was the cool answer.  “I suppose, however, that a great many children dress alike in these days when clothing is bought ready-made.”

The detective looked at him shrewdly and turned to his companion.

“Get a carriage, Dan—­that is, if this gentleman is prepared to pay for it.”

“Certainly,” was the reply.  “And may I ask what the charge against me is?”

“I should suppose you might have guessed it by this time,” answered the detective, with so much less respect in his manner that it was quite evident that he did not believe his prisoner as innocent as he would have it appear.  “The charge against you isn’t made yet, but I arrested you on suspicion of being implicated in the kidnapping of a little boy named Reginald Thorpe Thorne, and I shall take you to headquarters on that suspicion.”

Andy was sure he saw a slight change in the man’s features at the tone in which the words were uttered, and it was plain to him that the coincidence of the little boy in his company being dressed exactly as Regy had been dressed, had made an impression on the detective.

The latter turned to him.

“You will have to go with us too.  What is your name?”

“Andrew Fletcher.”

“You will find his father’s name on the register at Sing Sing,” said the man who had, as Andy believed, done so much to put it there.

Andy flashed an indignant glance at him, but paid no other attention to him.

“Must I go with you?” he asked of the detective.

“Yes.”

“Will you leave somebody here to watch the steamer, just the same?” questioned Andy, anxiously.

“Don’t worry about that, my lad.  The steamer shall be watched.”

“Will I be kept long?”

“I can’t tell.  Depends on what the inspector says.”

It seemed to Andy that all his chances of earning the reward were gone; but there was just a glimmering of hope left, and he was determined not to part with a certain secret he had until he was certain that Regy was found.

The secret was a small thing, and yet it might be the key to success.  It was this:  Andy had made no effort to connect the two speakers he had overheard while he was working in the onions with any one he knew, until as he stood there in the wharf office confronted with the man who had tried so hard to injure him, and who seemed in some singular way connected with the kidnapping of Regy Thorne.