nton, Mrs.
Mack's nephew, was the old woman's assailant. Jack had evidently left
the city by the first outgoing train, considering that at Niagara he
would be safe. So indeed he might have been but for the chance that
threw Mark and himself together. So it happened that the telegraph boy
held in his hand the clew to the mysterious attack. In his hand probably
lay the liberty of Minton.

What should he do?

While Mark was not especially fond of the old woman, he felt indignant
with her burly nephew for attacking her, and was clearly of the opinion
that he ought to be punished. After a little consideration he decided to
call at the office of the local police and put the matter in their
hands.

He inquired the way to the police office. A pleasant-looking man in the
uniform of a sergeant was on duty.

"Well, young man, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Please read this paragraph, sir, and then I will tell you."

The sergeant read the newspaper notice attentively.

"Well?" he said inquiringly.

"The man who I think committed the assault is in a saloon only a quarter
of a mile distant."

"Who is it?"

"A nephew of the old lady."

"But what makes you think he is the guilty party?"

"He has once before visited Mrs. Mack, and tried to extort money from
her."

"How do you know this?"

"Because I live in the same house with Mrs. Mack. She occupies the room
directly over where my mother and myself live."

"Then you live in New York?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you happen to be here?"

"I came on business for a New York jeweler."

"What is the name of the party you suspect?"

"Jack Minton."

"Do you know anything of his character or antecedents?"

"He is a criminal. He has been confined at Sing Sing prison for a term
of years."

"That alone is a ground of suspicion. Now how do you know he is here?"

"I met him less than an hour since."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Yes."

"State the particulars of your interview."

"He recognized me and invited me into a saloon to take a drink."

"And you accepted?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hardly approve of a boy of your age accepting such an invitation."

"I only drank a glass of sarsaparilla."

"I am glad to hear it. I have a son about your age, and I should be
sorry to have him drink whisky."

"There is no danger of my doing that," said Mark quietly. "I have a good
mother. For her sake, if not for my own, I would not drink liquor."

"That does you credit. Now