ndividual, though he
carefully scanned the passers.

"I've seen the last of that chap," he muttered. "Perhaps he was a
missionary, after all. Well, I can't lose any more time here. Thanks to
Tom Fordham, I've got my bearings pretty straight. I'll bet Tom wishes
he was with me now. I fancy I can see him grinding away at old Herodotus
by lamplight."

With a smile that showed his white teeth, he strode down the street of
Maine's most thriving port and lumber town. He entered the Penobscot
House, a block and a half from the depot.

He gave his luggage to a bellboy, and wrote his name on the register:

"Brick Larkins, New York City."

The clerk looked at the inscription and smiled.

"Done it again, have I?" exclaimed the lad. "Brick is only a nickname.
Shall I write it James?"

"Let it stand," replied the amused clerk. "Will you have supper, Mr.
Larkins?"

"Thanks, but I have dined on the train. Send the traps up to my room,
please."

Brick fastened a button or two of his cape-coat, and strolled out of the
hotel.

He did not see the missionary standing across the street. If he had he
would probably have failed to recognize him, for Mr. Pendergast now wore
a tweed steamer-cap, gold glasses, and a short gray overcoat with the
collar turned up.

Brick little dreamed that he was being followed as he pushed steadily
across town to the banks of the Penobscot River.

Turning parallel with the river, Brick went on until the lights of the
town were some distance behind. By the dim glow of the starlit sky he
could see that the beach sloped upward to a pretty steep bluff, and that
tall stacks of lumber lay in all directions. The sullen slapping of the
waves drowned his crunching footsteps.

"It's all as Tom described it," he said, half-aloud, as he paused to
look about him. "The dug-out ought to be near by, but I can't see a
glimmer of light. Hullo! what's that?"

A sharp sound had fallen on his ear, and he wheeled around in time to
see a dusky figure within ten feet of him.

"Hold on there," cried a stern voice. "Stop!"

Brick, having started forward, only ran the faster, and in the darkness
he collided with a tall stack of lumber. He grabbed the projecting slabs
and climbed to the top.

He was now eight or ten feet from the ground, and looking down he saw
his pursuer standing directly beneath.

"No use, my lad," whispered the man. "I've got you safe. Pass down that
pocketbook."

With a thrill of surprise, B