ad finished. "I know old Rufus Shepley,
and as a general thing he ain't a maniac. Something behind all this,
Sid."

"Yes; but what on earth could it be?"

"That's the question. If anything else happens, and you need help, just
let me know."

"I'll do that, surely," said Prale. "And I'm glad that I've got one
friend left in town."

"Always have one as long as I'm here," Jim Farland assured him. "And it
ain't because of your million, either. It's true about the million?"

"Absolutely!"

"Gee! That's more than old Griffin himself has in cash, anyway," Farland
declared. "Maybe it's a good thing that girl turned you down. You'd
probably be a clerk at a few thousand a year, if she hadn't. How'd you
make the coin?"

"Mines and fruit and water power and logs," said Prale.

"Sounds simple enough. When the detective business goes on the blink, I
may take a turn at it myself."

"If you ever need money, Jim, call on me. If you want to engage bigger
offices, hire operatives, branch out----"

"Stop it!" Farland cried. "I want nothing of the kind. I'm a peculiar
sort of duck--don't care about being rich at all. I just want to be sure
I'll have a good living for myself and the wife and kids, and have a few
friends, and be able to look every man in town straight in the eye. I'd
rather work for a friend for nothing than do work I don't like for ten
thousand an hour."

"I believe you!" Prale said.

CHAPTER V

THE COUSIN

An hour later, having parted with Detective Jim Farland, Sidney Prale
walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, determined to go to his hotel suite and
rest for the remainder of the evening. His conversation and short visit
with Farland had put him in a better humor. There was no mistaking the
quality of Farland's friendship. He and Prale had been firm friends ten
years before, when Farland was on duty in the financial district, and
they had made it a point at that time to eat luncheon together when
Farland's duties permitted.

New York seemed a better place, even with one friend among several
million persons. So Prale swung his stick jauntily, and hummed the
Spanish love song again, and told himself that Rufus Shepley and Kate
Gilbert, old Griffin and the hotel manager and the rest of the motley
crew that had made the day miserable for him amounted to nothing in the
broader scheme of things, and were not to be taken seriously.

He came to a block where there were few pedestrians, where the great
shops