“What I got!” snapped out Purnell, springing to his feet in hot anger. “I got what everybody gets who deals with that old rascal--the bad end of the trade, drat him!” “I’ll leave you alone to your own devices,” said Frank. “I’ll promise to see that you get some money when my mother recovers hers, if you will write out, sign and swear to the facts of your conspiracy with Dorsett against my mother.” “All right,” answered Purnell, after a moment of thought. “I’ve got some papers that apply to the matter. They are in my sitting room. I’ll get them.” The speaker walked to a door, turned a key and disappeared beyond the threshold. Frank sat awaiting his return. He congratulated himself on the ease with which he had intimidated the man to his purposes. Two minutes passed by, and Frank became impatient, five, and his suspicions were aroused. He walked to the door and knocked, tried it, pushed it open, and found himself, not in a connecting room, but in a side corridor. “Well, he has slipped me,” instantly decided Frank. He realized that he had been tricked badly. Frank went to the hotel office to make some inquiries, made a tour of the grounds, and, finally surmising that the object of his search had fled for good, regained his sample tray and returned to the town. Frank did not stay all night at the local hotel, although he went there to ask for mail. He had given his mother a list of the hotels in the various towns he expected to visit, secured from a guide book. There was a brief note from his mother. It imparted no particular news, saying only that she was attending to orders as they came in. Frank found a cheap lodging, and was back at the hotel at the lake by six o’clock the next morning. A brief talk with the clerk convinced him that Purnell would not be likely to return to that hostelry. He had gone, owing a week’s bill, and the two valises left in his room were found to be filled with bricks. “I’ve missed my man this time,” reflected Frank, as he hitched up the horse an hour later. “I may as well go right on my route. I’ll find him again, some time.” At Derby, Frank upon his arrival went to the telegraph office. He sent a message to the reformatory at Linwood, asking if one Richard Welmore was still an inmate of that institution. He asked, further, if one Dale Wacker had ever been a prisoner there. He went on selling in the town, with fair returns, until mid-afternoon. A reply to his message awaited him on his next visit to the telegraph office. It read: “Dale Wacker paroled on bond of his uncle. Richard Welmore escaped about six months since. One hundred dollars reward for his capture. If know his whereabouts, wire at once.” “That upsets one of my theories,” thought Frank. “Markham has not been captured for the reward.” Brandon was his next town. The day following he made Essex. He was pretty tired as he drove to its livery stable, about eight o’clock in the evening.