and he at once wanted to know how Mr.
Basswood was getting along."

"When was this?" questioned Ben.

"This was two days ago, and just about noon time."

"Two days ago!" repeated Roger. "Then Porton must have come here right
after leaving the hotel in Lamont. How ever did he get here?"

"Maybe he took that train that got through from Pepsico," answered
Phil. "You remember we heard that quite a few people made that
train."

"Let us hear about the miniatures," broke in Ben, impatiently.

"Well, he came in, as I said, and asked about Mr. Basswood's health.
Then he told me that he was in a great hurry--that a certain famous
art critic had called on Mr. Wadsworth, and, having heard about the
Enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. He told me that the art
critic had thought of coming over with him, but Mr. Wadsworth had said
that it might disturb Mr. Basswood too much to have the miniatures
examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become snowbound
in Crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o'clock
afternoon train. The young man said Mr. Wadsworth wanted to know if we
would allow him to take the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house,
and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the
next morning."

"Oh, Mother! didn't you suspect it might be a trick?" questioned Ben,
anxiously. "You knew how this Ward Porton has been impersonating
Dave."

"Yes, yes, Ben, I know," answered Mrs. Basswood, again wringing her
hands. "And I should have been more careful. But you know I was very
much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. Then, too,
the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if I had one of those
cards which Dave had distributed among the storekeepers--the one with
his autograph on it.

"I said 'no,' but told him I was very well acquainted with his
handwriting. Then he said he would write out a card for me, adding,
with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really Dave. He
drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on
it and then handed it to me. Here is the card now;" and, going to the
mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it.

"One of the cards that I left in the overcoat that was stolen!"
exclaimed Dave. "He didn't write this at all, Mrs. Basswood. That
rascal stole my overcoat and some of these cards were in it. He simply
pretended to write on it."

"Well, I was sure it was your handwriting, and that m