“And he wouldn’t consider it?”

“Something has braced him so that he isn’t afraid of the man any longer.  Perhaps he has got a line of his own on him.  It doesn’t seem to be worth anything any longer.  Suppose you tell me just who he is and what about him?”

“Not on your life!” retorted Detective Mullaney, sharply.  “I ain’t saying anything against your family, of course, but when I give a Dodd something for nothing—­even a hint—­it will be when I’m talking in my sleep and don’t know it.  But I’ll tell you what I will do.  Give me my two hundred and fifty and I’ll hand you the whole proposition and you may go ahead and make what you can of it.  I swear to you again that I’ve got it on him.  Seeing what he did to you, you ought to feel that the story is worth that much of a gamble even for private purposes.”

Dodd hesitated, put his hand in his pocket—­then withdrew it empty.

“No, Mullaney.  What’s the good?  He says Farr isn’t dangerous, and has turned down the whole thing flat.  I may as well keep my money.  If you want to sit on the platform, come along with me.  I can find a place for you.”

Detective Mullaney followed willingly, for he knew that people were fairly piling over one another in an attempt to get into the hall by the main entrance.

He sat down in one of the square chairs on the platform and searched with his sharp little eyes until he found the face of Walker Farr in the terraced rows of humanity.  It was not difficult to locate him, for his physique made him loom among other men and he was posted under the banner which marked the location of Moosac County.

The detective found the eyes of the young man directed toward the gallery with such intentness and for so long a time that he endeavored to trace that earnest scrutiny to its object.  The detective was not exactly certain, but he finally picked out a very handsome young lady who occupied a front chair in the balcony; she seemed to be returning the young man’s intent regard.

“You have the reputation of knowing all the pretty girls in the state,” whispered Mullaney, drawing Dodd’s attention with a nudge.  “Who is that up there in the gallery, front row, fifth from the aisle; blue feather, and so handsome she hurts my eyes?”

To have his attention drawn thus rudely to the one girl in all the world gave Dodd a sensation which he did not relish—­and his face showed his astonished resentment.

“That is Miss Kilgour, who used to be my uncle’s secretary.  Why do you want to know who she is?”

“Because there seems to be something very especial on between her and the man we thought was worth five hundred dollars to us.”

“That young lady, Mr. Mullaney, is engaged to me,” stated Dodd, acridly.  “You’d better drop the topic.”

But he did not display either the joy or the pride of the accepted suitor as he looked up at her.