those birds
who like to walk when they want to think something out. If I could only
know what was going on in that mind of his----"

Lerton had reached Madison Square, and there he did something foreign to
his nature. He crossed the Square, proceeded to Fourth Avenue, and
descended into the subway.

Farland was a few feet behind him, and got into the same car when Lerton
caught a downtown train. He followed when Lerton got off and went up to
the street level again, and now the broker made his way through the
throngs and along the narrow streets until he finally came to the
financial district. After a time he turned into the entrance of an
office building--the building where his own offices were located.

The detective watched him go up in the elevator, and then he turned back
to the cigar stand in the lobby and purchased more of the black cigars
he loved. For a time he stood out at the curb, puffing and thinking. He
watched the building entrance closely, but George Lerton did not come
down again.

As a matter of fact, Farland scarcely had expected that he would. He
believed that Lerton had kept an appointment with Kate Gilbert, and then
had continued to his office to take up the work of the day. Farland
decided that he would give Lerton a chance to attend to the morning mail
and pressing matters of business, before seeking an interview.

Finally, Farland threw the stub of the cigar away, turned into the
entrance of the building once more, and walked briskly to the elevator.
He shot up to the tenth floor, went down the hall, and entered the
reception room of the Lerton offices. An imp of an office boy took in
his card.

"Mr. Lerton will see you in ten minutes, sir," the returning boy
announced.

Farland touched match to another cigar. He was a little surprised that
Lerton had sent out that message. Lerton knew Farland, as Sidney Prale
had known him in the old days. He knew Farland's business, and he knew
that the detective and Prale were firm friends. He could guess that
Prale had engaged Jim Farland to work on this case and clear him of the
charge of having murdered Rufus Shepley.

After a time the boy ushered him into the private office. George Lerton
was sitting behind a gigantic mahogany desk, looking very much the
prosperous man of business.

"Well, Farland, this is a pleasure!" Lerton exclaimed. "Haven't seen you
for ages. How's business?"

"It could be better," Jim Farland replied, "and it could be a