officer in a big, shaggy uniform which
looks as if it might be worn because of cold weather," answered Ben;
and then, as the miniatures were very close to his heart, the youth
began to talk about them again.

This discussion lasted for another quarter of an hour, after which the
chums retired and were soon deep in the land of slumber.

Although none of our friends knew it, every word of their conversation
had been listened to eagerly by Ward Porton and the man with him. They
had noted carefully all that had been said about the Basswood
fortune, and about the miniatures having been placed in the real
estate dealer's safe awaiting inspection by the critics who were to
visit Mr. Wadsworth at his mansion. Both had noted also what Dave had
said about leaving his overcoat and his cap on the rack on the lower
floor of the hotel.

"A hundred thousand dollars' worth of miniatures!" murmured Tim
Crapsey, after the sounds in the adjoining room had ceased. "Say,
that's some fortune, sure enough!"

"But pictures! Humph, what good are they?" returned Ward Porton, in
disgust. "I'd rather have my fortune in something a little more
usable."

"Oh, pictures are not so bad, and miniatures can be handled very
easily," answered Tim Crapsey. His small eyes began to twinkle. "Jest
you let me git my hands on 'em, and I'll show you wot I kin do. I know
a fence in New York who'll take pictures jest as quick as anything
else."

"And what would he do with them after he got them?" questioned Ward
Porton curiously.

"Oh, he'd ship 'em 'round to different places after he got 'em
doctored up, and git rid of 'em somehow to art dealers and collectors.
Of course, he might not be able to git full value for 'em; but if
they're worth a hundred thousand dollars he might git ten or twenty
thousand, and that ain't bad, is it?" and Tim Crapsey looked at Ward
Porton suggestively.

"Easy enough to talk, but how are you going to get your hands on those
miniatures?" demanded the former moving-picture actor, speaking,
however, in a low tone, so that none of those in the next room might
hear him.

"I jest got an idee," croaked Tim Crapsey. He was a man who consumed a
large amount of liquor, and his voice showed it. "Didn't you hear wot
that chap said about leaving his coat and hat downstairs? If you could
fool them shopkeepers the way you did, then, if you had that feller's
hat and coat, and maybe fixed up a bit to look like that photograph
you had of h