Frank Newton had said that Markham was a first-class peddler. If he had followed his young friend as he darted from the house, he would also have noted him quite a proficient amateur detective. Markham looked down the street after the retreating figures of old Dorsett and his companion. He saw they were bound for the business centre of the town. He cut down an alley, and heading them off allowed them to pass him by and quietly followed on their trail. When they went up into a building occupied as offices for a justice of the peace and lawyers, Markham in a few moments trailed after them. Loitering about the hall, he could watch them conversing with a village magistrate at his desk. The latter consulted a copy of the statutes, expounded some point under discussion, and finally filled out several legal blanks. Markham was industriously reading the notices tacked to the justice’s bulletin board outside of his office door, as Dorsett came out of the room. “Hold on, Sherry,” he said to his companion. “I’ll settle with you now.” “All right, governor,” bobbed the man. “You are deputized to serve these papers. Don’t get them mixed. Got any tacks?” “I’ll get some all right.” “Very well. When you have disposed of the first two documents, serve the last one on Mrs. Ismond, see?” “Sure, I see, governor--ah, and glad to see this five-dollar bill. First one I’ve seen, in fact, for an age.” “When you’re all through, report to me.” “I will, governor.” They kept together till they reached the street. Arrived there, Dorsett went one way, his hireling another. Markham put after the latter, who was so elated over the possession of money that he chuckled and swung along the street with a great air of importance and enjoyment. The man Sherry went straight to the railway depot. Markham, looking in through one of its windows, saw him approach the station agent. To him Sherry read one of the documents and came out again. The second day of Markham’s residence in Greenville, he had done quite an heroic act. It had made the railroad men his friends. One of their number had celebrated pay day too freely. He had stumbled across a track. Markham had run at the top of his speed, and had even risked life and limb to reach him in time to drag him out of the way of a freight train backing down upon him. “Mr. Young,” said Markham, running into the depot by one side door as Sherry left it by another, “you remember me?” “Sure, I do. How are you?” said the depot master heartily. “I’m worried to death to find out what that man who was just here is up to,” said Markham, hurriedly. “Up to? Down to, you mean,” flared out Young. “He’s served a paper on me as the representative of the railway company, notifying me that we are to hold the car containing Mrs. Ismond’s furniture until the matter of a debt she owes old Dorsett is settled in court.”