ht, in accordance with the
directions of Red Haney. The station agent scratched his stubbly
chin, and spat with great accuracy through a knot-hole ten feet away.

"'Spect you mean old man Kellner," he replied obligingly. "He lives
by hisself part of the time; then again sometimes his grand-darter
lives with him."

Granddaughter! Mr. Birnes almost jumped.

"A granddaughter, yes," he said with a forced calm. "Rather a pretty
girl, twenty-two or three years old? Sometimes she dresses in blue?"

"Yes," the agent agreed. "'Spect them's them. Follow the road there
till you come to Widow Gardiner's hog-lot, then turn to your left,
and it's about a quarter of a mile on. The only house up that way--
you can't miss it."

The agent stood squinting at them, with friendly inquiry radiating
from his parchment-like countenance, and Mr. Birnes took an
opportunity to ask some other questions.

"By the way, what sort of old man is this Mr. Kellner? What does he
do? Is he wealthy?"

A pleasant grin overspread his informant's face; one finger was raised
to his head and twirled significantly.

"'Spect he's crazy," he went on to explain. "Don't do nothing, so
far as nobody knows--lives like a hermit, stays in the house all the
time, and has long whiskers. Don't know whether he's rich or not,
but 'spect he ain't becuz no man with money'd live like he does." He
thrust a long forefinger into Mr. Birnes' face. "And stingy! He's
so stingy he won't let nobody come in the house--scared they'll wear
the furniture out looking at it."

"How long has he lived here?"

"There ain't nobody in this town old enough to say. Why, mister,
I'll bet that old man's a thousand years old. Wait'll you see him."

That was all. They went on as indicated.

"The very type of man who would scrimp and starve to put all his
money in something like diamonds," mused Chief Arkwright. "The usual
rich old miser who winds up by being murdered."

They passed the "Widow Gardiner's hog-lot" and came into a pleasant
country road, which, turning, brought them to a shabby little
cottage, embowered in trees. Through the foliage, farther on, they
caught the amber gleam of a languid river; and around their feet, as
they entered the yard, scores of pigeons fluttered.

"Carriers!" ejaculated Mr. Birnes, as if startled.

With a strange feeling of elation the detective led the way up the
steps to the veranda and knocked. There was no answer. He glance