"Most assuredly. That's the way I earn my living; but I have no such intention. I feel interested in your case, and would like to see you righted, if I can. Besides, it will pay me better to help you recover the money than to choose any other course. I make no secret of my motives. They are purely mercenary, you see." "I am just as much obliged to you, all the same." "You have reasons to be. The ordinary detective would have marched you off to the station-house. False witnesses would have been brought against you beyond a doubt; you would have been convicted, and under the provisions of your grandfather's will could never have inherited a cent." "I don't seem likely to in any case, now that the parchment describing the hiding-place of his buried money is lost." "Don't be too sure. I have a feeling that we shall yet succeed in finding that parchment. But now for a question or two. How came those boys--what do they call themselves--to lend you a helping hand?" "They call themselves the 'Bats in the Wall.' Barney has been in the habit of blacking my boots at the bank. That was the reason he gave for helping me as he did." "'Bats in the Wall,' eh? A good name. That accounts for the bat-like cry Officer Schneider heard. As for the reason, that don't amount to anything. Depend upon it, these boys would never had let you into their secret for any such reason as that." "What do you think was the reason?" "Blest if I know. If I did, I am certain that I would have the key to much that is now mysterious about this strange affair. What do you know about this Jerry Buck?" "Nothing at all, except meeting him in the wall as I did." "There is something that boy is keeping back," said the detective, musingly. "Now what is it? That's the question. Have you noticed, Frank, how much he resembles you?" "No, I'm sure, I haven't. Do you mean to say he looks like me?" "Enough like you to be your twin brother. I never saw a more marked resemblance in my life. But that is always the way. A man can rarely see a resemblance to himself in the face of any one else." "Well, now you speak of it, I can see some points in which we are alike. His hair is the color of mine; his eyes are not unlike----" "Eyes, nose, mouth, everything," replied the detective, quickly. "But never mind that now. Tell me something of your own past--something concerning that mother of yours." Tears gathered in the boy's eyes. "It is a sad, sad story, Mr. Hook," he replied, brokenly. "After my father's misfortunes she lost her reason, as I have already told you. Mr. Callister, who had charge of our affairs, had her removed to a private asylum, where she has been most of the time ever since." "What asylum was it?" "Dr. Belding's, St. Nicholas avenue and 150th street, up near the Fort Washington road." "I know the locality. You say you went there yesterday, and they told you she had escaped." "Yes. She disappeared one night, some three weeks ago." "And you were not informed?"