tor, young man,--mighty clever,--but it's no go.
Now you'll walk along with us if you please," said Mr. Kellar.

"But I tell you I don't please. It's a mistake. I am Peter Craigmile,
Jr., himself, alive."

"Well, if you are, you'll have a chance to prove it, but evidence is
against you. If you are he, why do you come back under an assumed name
during your father's absence? A little hitch there you did not take
into consideration."

"I had my reasons--good ones--I--came back to confess to
the--un--un--witting--killing of my cousin, Richard." He turned from
one to the other, panting as if he had been running a race, and threw
out his words impetuously. "I tell you I came here for the very
purpose of giving myself up--but you have the wrong man."

By this time a crowd had collected, and the servants were running from
their work all over the hotel, while the proprietor stood aloof with
staring eyes.

"Here, Mr. Decker, you remember me--Elder Craigmile's son? Some of you
must remember me."

But the proprietor only wagged his head. He would not be drawn into
the thing. "I have no means of knowing who you are--no more than Adam.
The name you wrote in my book was Harry King."

"I tell you I had my reasons. I meant to wait here until the
Elder's--my father's return and--"

"And in the meantime we'll put you in a quiet little apartment, very
private, where you can wait, while we look into things a bit."

"You needn't take me through the streets with these things on; I've no
intention of running away. Let me go to my room a minute."

"Yes, and put a bullet through your head. I've no intention of running
any risks now we have you," said the detective.

"Now you have who? You have no idea whom you have. Take off these
shackles until I pay my bill. You have no objection to that, have
you?"

They turned into the hotel, and the handcuffs were removed while the
young man took out his pocketbook and paid his reckoning. Then he
turned to them.

"I must ask you to accompany me to my room while I gather my toilet
necessities together." This they did, G. B. Stiles and the sheriff
walking one on either side, while the Swede followed at their heels.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, turning suddenly upon the
stable man.

"Oh, I yust lookin' a leetle out."

"Mr. Stiles, what does this mean, that you have that man dogging me?"

"It's his affair, not mine. He thinks he has a certain interest in
you."

Then he turned