The minister put out a hand and grasped the back of a chair for support. His lips parted. No sound came from them. Average Jones carefully folded the paper of “gibberish” and tucked it away in his card case. “Bailey has been carried away by two people in a buggy. They were strangers to the town. He was injured and unconscious. They still have him. Incidentally, he has seriously interfered with a daring and highly ingenious enterprise. That is all I can tell you at present.” The clergyman found his voice. “In heaven, Mr. Jones,” he cried, “tell me who and what these people are.” “I don’t know who they are. I do know what they are. But it can do no good to tell you the one until I can find out the other. Be sure of one thing, Bailey is in no further danger. You’ll hear from me as soon as I have anything definite to report.” With that the Reverend Mr. Prentice had to be content; that and a few days later, a sheet of letter-paper bearing the business imprint of the Ad-Visor, and enclosing this advertisement: WANTED—3 Ft. type for sensational Bill Work. Show samples. Delivery in two weeks. A. Jones, Ad-Visor, Court Temple, N. Y. City. Had the Reverend Mr. Prentice been a reader of journals devoted to the art and practice of printing he might have observed that message widely scattered to the trade. It was answered by a number of printing shops. But, as the answers came in to Average Jones, he put them aside, because none of the seekers for business was able to “show samples.” Finally there came a letter from Hoke and Hollins of Rose Street. They would like Mr. Jones to call and inspect some special type upon which they were then at work. Mr. Jones called. The junior member received him. “Quite providential, Mr. Jones,” he said. “We’re turning out some single-letter, hand-made type of just the size you want. Only part of the alphabet, however. Isn’t that a fine piece of lettering!” He held up an enormous M to the admiration of his visitor. “Excellent!” approved Average Jones. “I’d like to see other letters; A, for example.” Mr. Hollins produced a symmetrical A. “And now, an R, if you please; and perhaps a V.” Mr. Hollis looked at his visitor with suspicion. “You appear to be selecting the very letters which I have,” he remarked. “Those which—er—would make up the—er—legend, ‘Marvelous Man-Like Monster,” drawled Average Jones. “Then you know the Farleys,” said the print man. “The Flying Farleys?” said Average Jones. “They used to do ascensions with firework trimmings, didn’t they? No; I don’t exactly know them. But I’d like to.” “That’s another matter,” retorted Mr. Hollins, annoyed at having betrayed himself. “This type is decidedly a private—even a secret-order. I had no right to say anything about it or the customers who ordered it.” “Still, you could see that a letter left here for them reached them, I suppose.”