to tell me that Mr. Birchard never has represented the
Wobbles family in this matter?" Johnny managed to ask.

"Certainly not," answered Gresham, widening his eyes.

"I have his signed authorization to act for them in the matter,"
declared Johnny, remembering that circumstance with happy relief.

"You have?" inquired Gresham with great apparent surprise. "Will you
allow me to look at the paper?"

Johnny showed it to him triumphantly, but Gresham read it with a smile
of contempt.

"I was correct in my suspicions of Birchard," he stated. "This document
is a forgery. I hope you did not pay him any money on the strength of
it."

Silently Johnny laid before him Birchard's receipt, and a second later
as he saw the gleam of gratification in Gresham's eyes was sorry that
he had done so.

"I am afraid that you have been swindled," was Gresham's altogether too
sympathetic comment. "However, that does not concern the business in
hand. This was the day appointed for the final settlement, and I have
come prepared to make it with you."

"You'll have to wait," declared Johnny bluntly, putting away the
documents.

"I must call your attention to the fact that if you do not close this
matter to-day my principals are at liberty to place the property upon
the market again."

"Advise them not to do so," Johnny warned him. "Under the circumstances
I am certain that I can secure enough delay for investigation--legally,
if necessary. I won't move a step until I've looked into this."

"Very well," said Gresham easily, and walked out.

Johnny, in a consternation that was barely short of panic, immediately
consulted Loring, and together they set out upon a search for the
Wobbleses. At their various hotels--for no two of them put up at the
same place--it was discovered that they were severally "probably in the
country at week-end parties". Tommy alone they found, but he knew so
little and was so upset by what they told him that they were sorry he,
too, had not attended a week-end party; and they left him gasping like
a sea-lion, with his toupee down over his ear, and saying between gasps
over and over again with perfectly vacant eyes: "Eugene's an ass!
Perfect ass, don't you know!"

They spent some hopeless time in attempting to trace Birchard, but that
gentleman had disappeared on the previous Saturday. No one had seen him
or had heard of him or had thought of him. They put the case into the
hands of detectives, and gave up hope.