Mr. Stone put on a silk hat and went out, to be gone nearly or quite
half an hour. He returned accompanied by another man--a police
official--to whom the particulars of the occurrence had been given.

"That identification was also part of the swindle," the broker
explained. "I could not find the clerk at the restaurant, and I am
convinced now that he was not the man he made me believe he was."

"But what about our money?" said Earl, coldly, thinking the broker might
try to shift the responsibility of the affair.

"If you can find some reliable party known to us to identify you, I will
pay the sum to you," was the answer. "But I've got to be sure of the
identification this time--and you can't blame me for that," added the
broker, with a short laugh.

"No, we can't blame you for that," repeated Earl, yet at the same time
wondering who there was in that strange city who knew them.

"I don't know of any one here who knows us," put in Randy, reading his
elder brother's thought. "I wish Uncle had sent the money in some other
way."

"See here," put in the police official. "Since those swindlers had the
letter that was lost up near where you come from, perhaps you know the
men. Mr. Stone, can't you describe them?"

As well as he was able the broker did so. But the description was so
indefinite that both Earl and Randy shook their heads.

"I know a dozen men who look a good deal like that description," said
the older brother. "It's possible they were lumbermen like ourselves."

"Yes, they did look like lumbermen," replied Mr. Stone. "That is why I
was not so particular about their identification."

For another half hour the matter was talked over, and then as it was
getting time to close up the office for the day, Earl and Randy left, to
find some one to identify them, were such a thing possible. At the
corner of the block both halted.

"I'm blessed if I know what to do," were Randy's words. "I can't think
of a soul who knows us here."

"There used to be a man named Curtis Gordon who once lived at Basco--he
owned the feed mill there. He came to Boston and started a flour
business. But whether he would remember me is a question. He hasn't seen
me in about eight years."

"We might try him--it would be better than nothing!" cried Randy,
eagerly. "Let us hunt him up in the directory."

This was done, and they found Mr. Curtis Gordon's place of business
after a search lasting over an hour. Several clerks were in at