the land agent. Laxton glanced at him without much interest,
having already as much business on his hands as he could manage. The
stranger wore an old fur-coat and looked like a rancher.

"Mr. Laxton, I believe," he said, taking the next chair.

The land agent nodded and the other continued:

"My name's Prescott. I've come over from Sebastian to have a talk with
you."

"I suppose I'll have to spare you a few minutes," said Laxton with more
resignation than curiosity.

"In the first place, I want to ask if you have ever seen me before?"

Laxton looked at him with greater interest. The man's brown face was
eager, his eyes were keen, with a sparkle in them that hinted at
determination.

"Well," he said, "I can't recollect it."

"Would you be willing to swear to that?"

"Don't know that I'd go quite so far; I don't see why I should."

Prescott took out a sheet of paper with some writing on it.

"Do you recognize that hand?"

"No," said the agent decidedly. "It's a bold style that one ought to
notice, but I don't think I've seen it." Then he looked up sharply. "What
you getting after?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Let me say that I've examined the land sale
record here, and have found a deal registered that you were concerned in.
It was made in the name of Cyril Jernyngham."

Laxton started.

"Look here," he said, "I've had a lot of trouble over this thing since I
was fool enough to write to the police; in fact, I've had enough of the
Jernyngham case." He broke off for a moment as a light dawned on him and
then went on: "It's a sure thing I haven't met you, but, when I think,
there was a young lad something like you among others in blanket-coats in
a photograph a sergeant brought me. Montreal snowshoe or toboggan club, I
guess."

"I don't know how the police got it. But what did you tell the sergeant?"

"Said it was no use showing me a photograph like that, because I didn't
trade with kids."

"Then, as I'm the man the police suspect of selling that land of
Jernyngham's, it would be a great favor if you'll tell me candidly what
you know about the matter."

"Hang up your coat," said Laxton; "I'll do what I can. Anyway, you're not
the fellow I made the deal with."

He drew out a cigar-case when Prescott came back.

"Take a smoke and go ahead. I'm willing to talk."

"First of all, turn over the paper I gave you and look at the signature."

"Cyril Jernyngham!" exclaimed Laxton, astonished. "I see your