said the trader, sternly.

"What is the matter? Isn't the bill a good one?" asked Frank.

"You have not answered my question. However, I will answer yours. The
bill is a counterfeit."

Frank looked surprised, and he understood at a flash why he had been
trusted with two of these bills when one would answer.

"I have nothing to do with that," said the telegraph boy. "I was sent
out to buy some articles, and this money was given me to pay for them."

"Have you got any other money of this description?" asked the trader,
suspiciously.

"Yes," answered Frank, readily. "I have another twenty."

"Let me see it."

"Certainly. I should like to know whether that is bad too."

The other twenty proved to be a fac-simile of the first.

"I must know where you got this money," said the merchant. "You may be
in the service of counterfeiters."

"You might know, from my uniform, that I am not," said Frank,
indignantly. "I once lost a place because I would not pass counterfeit
money."

"I have a detective here. You must lead him to the man who supplied you
with the money."

"I am quite willing to do it," said our hero. "He wanted to make a tool
of me. If I can put him into the hands of the law, I will."

"That boy is all right," said a gentleman standing by. "The rogue was
quite ingenious in trying to work off his bad money through a telegraph
messenger."

"What is the appearance of this man?" asked the detective as they walked
along.

"Rather a reddish face, and partly bald."

"What is the color of the hair he has?"

"Red."

"Very good. It ought to be easy to know him by that description."

"I should know him at once," said Frank, promptly.

"If he has not changed his appearance. It is easy to do that, and these
fellows understand it well."

Reaching the house, Frank rang the bell, the detective sauntering along
on the opposite side of the street.

"Is Mr. Stanley at home?" asked Frank.

"I will see."

The girl came down directly, with the information that Mr. Stanley had
gone out.

"That is queer," said Frank. "He told me to come right back. He said he
had a headache, too, and did not want to go out."

As he spoke, his glance rested on a man who was lounging at the corner.
This man had black hair, and a full black beard. By chance, Frank's eye
fell upon his right hand, and with a start he recognized a large ring
with a sparkling diamond, real or imitation. This ring he had last seen
on Mr. Stanley's