ycle speeding down the drive.

"I wonder what the impressive business is today," remarked Harry
sarcastically.

"Let poor Owen alone. He is good and kind even if he doesn't care for
Cyrus."

"Look here! Why don't you ever say any of these nice things to me--
the things, you say to dogs--and secretaries?"

"Because I've promised to marry you--some day--and it is fatal to
let a husband--even a futurity husband--know that you admire him."

"Well, as long as you do, it is all right."

A half mile down the main road to Westbury a runabout was drawn up, and
a converted gypsy was alternately pretending to repair an imaginary
break and relieving his nerve-strain by pacing the road. Balthazar's
fantastic garments had given way to a plain sack suit and motor duster,
but the profit of his employment by Raymond Owen was worth the
discomfort of becoming "civilized."

The muttering of a distant motor made him fall to his knees and, wrench
in hand, wiggle hastily under the machine.

To all appearance he was bitterly pre-occupied with the woes of a
stalled tourist when a motorcycle chugged to a stop beside the runabout
and Owen called him.

"I thought you had failed of our appointment, master," he said eagerly
as he crawled out. "I have waited for more than half an hour."

"It is sad that you should be inconvenienced, old friend," answered
Owen.

"I have done what you commanded me, master," Balthazar said with an
ingratiating smile. "I have found them."

"Found whom?"

"The friends I spoke about at our last meeting--the little band that
earns money by--making it."

"Oh, yes--your counterfeiters. Are they to be trusted?"

"Master, all guilty men are to be trusted. There is always protection
in knowing the sins of others."

"Sometimes, Balthazar, I almost suspect you of possessing a brain.
But, remember, I have told you that I shall soon be through--unless
you accomplish something."

"Master, it is because I dare not risk your freedom--your life. For
myself I care nothing. I live to serve you, who have been my
benefactor."

"You lie, of course," remarked Owen casually. "But what of the new
plan?"

"They are in Bantersville, only twelve miles from Castle Marvin. A
house that has been long occupied and with no houses near."

"And they are still manufacturing coins there?"

"Yes; but they are becoming frightened. Two of the distributors have
been arrested. They would be glad of a safer, a swifter me