from him, reading
a little green book. The colonel had adopted a simple but effective
disguise.

In New York, which was reached early in the morning, after a night
journey, the colonel again took up the trail, keeping near his man.

"Follow that taxi," the colonel ordered the driver of his machine as it
rolled out of the Pennsylvania station, just a few lengths behind the
one in which Grafton rode.

The following was well done, and, a little later the two machines drew
up in front of the big office building in which Colonel Ashley had his
headquarters.

"Whew!" whispered the follower of Izaak Walton, "I wonder if he came
here to consult my agency?"

All doubts were dissolved a moment later when, keeping somewhat in the
background, the detective heard the merchant ask the elevator starter
on which floor were the offices of Colonel Ashley's detective agency.

"He _does_ want to see me!" excitedly thought the colonel. "What in
the world for? This is getting interesting! I've got to do a little
fine work now. He must never suspect, at least for a while, that I
have been in Colchester."

Next to the elevator in which Aaron Grafton rode up was another.

"Tom, you're an express for the time being!" whispered the colonel to
the operator. "There's a man headed for my offices, and I must get in
ahead of him. Here's a dollar!"

"I get you, Colonel! Shoot!"

And the car shot up with speed enough to cause the colonel to gasp,
used as he was to rapid motion.

He had just time to slide into his quarters by a rear and private door,
to make certain changes in his appearance and be calmly sitting at his
desk smoking a cigar when his clerk brought in the card of Aaron
Grafton.

"Tell him to come in," said the colonel, more and more surprised at the
turn affairs were taking. "I'll see this man myself," he continued,
speaking to the man into whose hands he had put the general direction
of the agency. "Say to Mr. Grafton," he said, turning to the clerk,
"that Colonel Ashley will see him in a moment."

CHAPTER VIII

THE DIAMOND CROSS

"Colonel Ashley?" There was a formal, questioning note in the
merchant's voice.

"That is my name, yes, sir. Er--Mr. Grafton," and, as though to
refresh his memory, the colonel glanced at the card on his desk.

"You are a private detective?"

"Yes."

Mr. Grafton was evidently sparring for time. He seemed uneasy--he
looked uneasy, and it required no very astute mind