notice of the gentleman at Rutter's," he
said, "being a smaller shop. I'm going to admire that case and pretend
it belonged to a friend of mine."

"I want you to try and buy it for me," Chris said, quietly.

Rutter's was reached at length, and after some preliminaries the
cigar-case was approached. Merritt took it up, with a well-feigned air of
astonishment.

"Why, this must have belonged to my old friend, B--," he exclaimed.
"It's not new?"

"No, sir," the assistant explained. "We purchased it from a gentleman
who stayed for a day or two here at the Lion, a friend of Mr.
Reginald Henson."

"A tall man?" said Merritt, tentatively. "Long, thin beard and slightly
marked with small-pox? Gave the name of Rawlins?"

"That's the gentleman, sir. Perhaps you may like to purchase the case?"

The purchase was made in due course, and together Chris and her queer
companion left the shop.

"Rawlins is an American swindler of the smartest type," said Merritt. "If
you get him in a corner ask him what he and Henson were doing in America
some two years ago. Rawlins is in this little game for certain. But you
ought to trace him by means of the Lion people. Oh, lor'!"

Merritt slipped back into an entry as a little, cleanshaven man passed
along the street. His eyes had a dark look of fear in them.

"They're after me," he said, huskily. "That was one of them. Excuse
me, miss."

Merritt darted away and flung himself into a passing cab. His face was
dark with passion; the big veins stood out on his forehead like cords.

"The cur," he snarled--"the mean cur! I'll be even with him yet. If I
can only catch the 4.48 at the Junction I'll be in London before them.
And I'll go down to Brighton, if I have to foot it all the way, and,
once I get there, look to yourself, Reginald Henson. A hundred pounds is
a good sum to go on with. I'll kill that cur--I'll choke the life out of
him. Cabby, if you get to the Junction by a quarter to five I'll give
you a quid."

"The quid's as good as mine, sir," cabby said, cheerfully. "Get
along, lass."

Meanwhile Chris had returned thoughtfully to the dog-cart, musing over
the last discovery. She felt quite satisfied with her afternoon's work.
Then a new idea struck her. She crossed over to the post-office and
dispatched a long telegram thus:--

"To David Steel, 15, Downend Terrace, Brighton.

"Go to Walen's and ascertain full description of the tentative customer
who suggested the firm should p