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CHAPTER XXXIV.
The Detective

THE man in drab smiled to himself as he left the presence of Mrs. Fogson.

"I wonder whether that woman's husband has her amiable traits?" he speculated. "If so, the Scranton poor must be made very uncomfortable."

As he reached the village he met Percy Dixon once more. Percy had an ungovernable curiosity, and he crossed the street to intercept the stranger.

"I suppose you found the poorhouse,'' he said suggestively.

"Yes; I could not miss it after your dear directions."

"Are you related to Mr. and Mrs. Fogson?" asked Percy, rather boldly.

"Well no," answered the stranger with a smile. "I haven't the honor."

"Have you any relations among the paupers?"

"Not that I am aware of. However, I called to inquire after one of them -- a boy."

"Jed Gilman?" said Percy eagerly.

"Yes; I believe that is his name. Are you acquainted with him?"

"I have known him for years."

"I suppose he is a friend of yours?"

"Not much. Do you think I would be friends with a pauper?"

"I don't know. I see no reason why not if he is a nice boy."

"But Jed isn't a nice boy. He's an artful, forward, presuming young jackanapes, and was awfully troublesome."

"I am sorry to hear it. Mrs. Fogson seems to think of him very much as you do."

"I should think she would. She and Fogson couldn't do anything with him."

"Mrs. Fogson says he isn't there now."

"No; he ran away after making a brutal assault on Fogson."

The man in drab felt an inclination to smile, but suppressed it.

"I don't know as I ought to have spoken against him," continued Percy with a conning look of inquiry. "You may be after him."

The man in drab paused a moment, then assuming a look of mystery, said, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes," answered Percy eagerly.

"Come here, then," Percy drew near, and the other whispered mysteriously, "I am a detective."

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Percy, gazing at him with a species of awe, begotten of his idea of detectives as introduced into books which he had read.

The other nodded.

"And I am after Jed Gilman!" he continued.

"Is that so?" said the delighted Percy. "What has he done?"

"That is a secret which I am not permitted to reveal at present."

"Do you want to find him?"

"Very much."

"Then I'll tell you where he is. He's gone to Bar Harbor -- in Maine, you know."

The detective nodded. "He went on a yacht -- the Juno-- owned by Mr. Schuyler Roper -- a rich New York gentleman."

"But how did he get into such company?"

"Oh, Mr. Roper took pity on him and gave him a place."

"Then you think he is comfortably situated?"

"Yes, but he won't be long,"

"Why not?"

"Because I have written a letter to Mr. Roper, telling him Jed's real character. I expect he'll be bounced when that letter arrives."

"That would upset all my plans and enable him to escape."

Percy looked perplexed and disappointed.

"I am sorry for that," he said. "I guess I'd better write again and tell him to keep Jed another week."

"Perhaps you had better do so. Say that -- But no. I will telegraph to him to keep Jed with him till I arrive."

"That'll do better. You couldn't possibly tell me what Jed has done?"

"Not at present."

"You'll let me know sometime?"

"I think I shall be able to gratify your curiosity before long."

"I'll give you my address, and you can write to me. I wish I knew whether Jed had stolen anything or not."

"I cannot say a word! My lips are sealed!" said the detective in a solemn tone.

Percy was impressed. The man in drab quite came up to his idea of a detective.

"By the way," said his companion, "I want to call on Mr. and Mrs. Avery, who, I understand, know something of the boy's early life."

"They live there -- in that small house. I'll go with you."

"No, I prefer to go alone. One can't be too careful."

"All right," said Percy. "I wonder what under the canopy Jed's been doing? It's likely he'll have to go to jail."

CHAPTER XXXV.
Mrs. Avery's Story

THE detective crossed the street, walked up a tiny footpath and rang the bell of the small house.

Mrs. Avery came to the door, a gentle- faced little woman with white hair. She looked inquiringly at the visitor.

"Mrs. Avery, I believe?" said the man in drab.

"That is my name."

"I would like the favor of a few words with you, madam."

"Come in then," and she led the way to a modest sitting-room.

"My husband," she said, introducing him to a kindly old man, as white-haired as herself.

"My name is Fletcher," said the visitor, "and I have come to you for information. But first, am I right in my belief that you were once in charge of the Scranton poorhouse?"

"Yes, sir. My husband and I had charge of it for fifteen years. We should have been there now, but for Squire Dixon, the new Overseer of the Poor, who wanted the place for some friends of his, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson."

"I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Fogson," said Fletcher with a smile. "I am sure, now that I have seen you both, that the change was for the worse."