aith in Arthur Dillon. He reported the
result to Edith.

"Not one of them" said he, "but would go to court and swear a bushel of
oaths that Arthur Dillon is the boy who ran away. They have their
reasons too; how he dances, and sings, and plays the fiddle, and teases
the girls, just as he did when a mere strip of a lad; how the devil was
always in him for doing the thing that no one looked for; how he had no
fear of even the priest, or of the wildest horse; and sought out
terrible things to do and to dare, just as now he shakes up your late
backers, bishops, ministers, ambassadors, editors, or plots against
England; all as if he earned a living that way."

She sneered at this bias, and bade him search deeper.

It was necessary to approach the Senator on the matter. He secured from
him a promise that their talk would remain a secret, not only because
the matter touched one very dear to the Senator, but also because
publicity might ruin the detective himself. If the Senator did not care
to give his word, there would be no talk, but his relative might also be
exposed to danger. The Senator was always gracious with Curran.

"Do you know anything about Arthur's history in California?" and his
lazy eyes noted every change in the ruddy, handsome face.

"Never asked him but one question about it. He answered that straight,
and never spoke since about it. Nothing wrong, I hope?" the Senator
answered with alarm.

"Lots, I guess, but I don't know for sure. Here are the circumstances.
Think them out for yourself. A crowd of sharp speculators in California
mines bought a mine from Arthur Dillon when he was settling up his
accounts to come home to his mother. As trouble arose lately about that
mine, they had to hunt up Arthur Dillon. They send their agent to New
York, he comes to Arthur, and has a talk with him. Then he goes back to
his speculators, and declares to them that this Arthur Dillon is not the
man who sold the mine. So the company, full of suspicion, offers me the
job of looking up the character of Arthur, and what he had been doing
these ten years. They say straight out that the real Arthur Dillon has
been put out of the way, and that the man who is holding the name and
the stakes here in New York is a fraud."

This bit of fiction relieved the Senator's mind.

"A regular cock-and-bull story," said he with indignation. "What's their
game? Did you tell them what we think of Artie? Would his own mother
mistake him? O