Nestor," said Fremont.

"Say," said Shaw, "do you know who it is that brought you here?"

"Ned Nestor, of course."

"But do you know who he is? He's the best amateur detective in the
world. He's always looking for a chance to help those accused of
crime. Even the high police officers of New York ask him to look into
cases for them. Some day he'll be at the head of the United States
secret service department. You see. He'll get you through if any one
can. Leave it to him. Here's some one coming now. Perhaps it is Ned."

But it was not Ned, for there were noises in the hall, just beyond the
door, which indicated a struggle, and then a sharp voice called out:

"Cut it out, youse feller! Cut it out, or I'll bring out me educated
left. Let me alone, I say. I ain't no tramp."

Both boys recognized the voice, and Fremont hastened to unlock the
door. When it was opened the second surprise of the evening confronted
the fugitive. Jimmie McGraw stood in the hall threatening an angry
waiter with his clenched fists. Although the boy was small, and no
match for the waiter, he was exceedingly nimble, and the waiter was
unable to lay hands on him.

"He's tryin' to throw me out," exclaimed Jimmie, grinning at sight of
the boys. "Tell him it is all right."

"We are expecting the boy," Fremont said. "Kindly let him alone."

"I'm ordered to throw him out of the hotel," roared the waiter. "He's a
tramp."

Fremont pacified the fellow with a silver offering and, drawing Jimmie
inside of the room, closed the door. Then the three boys, looking
from one to the other, broke out in uproarious laughter. For Jimmie was
a sight to behold. His clothing was torn, and his hands and face looked
as if they had never seen water.

"How did you get down here?" asked Fremont, after a moment. "I left
you in New York, to look after that end of the Cameron case."

"Huh!" exclaimed the boy. "You didn't take the railroad iron up with
you when you came down, did you? Nor yet you didn't lock up the
side-door Pullmans. I got fired as second assistant to the private
secretary to the scrubwoman, 'cause she got pinched, so I came on down
here to help Uncle Sam keep the border quiet."

"They won't let you drum," interrupted Fatty. "You're too short."

"I don't want to drum," was the indignant reply. "I want to get over
into Mexico an' live in the mountains. Say, if you boys have any
mazuma, just pass it out. I'm hungry enough to e