“Oh, is it,” cried the prisoner, with a savage stare at Frank. “Let me out, officer. I want about two minutes chance at the miserable swindler.” “It will pay you to act with some reason,” warned the marshal. “Now then, you made the charge to me that you had been swindled.” “Outrageously,” cried the prisoner. “Give us the details. Young Newton has the confidence of everybody in Pleasantville, and we don’t believe he would do a dishonest act.” “Don’t?” flared up the prisoner. “Why, I’ve got the proofs. I got a circular a few days ago, saying that I had been selected as the man in Westboro to receive a full-size hunting-case watch and chain, cut shown, for eleven dollars, provided I would show it to my neighbors and advise them to buy.” “Never sent out such a circular,” asserted Frank. “I sent the money. The watch came yesterday evening. It was a five-cent toy watch, tin cases, paper face, no works.” “Where is the circular you speak of?” asked Frank. “I left it at home. It was from the United States Mail Order House, Pleasantville--” “Oh,” interrupted Frank with sudden enlightenment. Then, turning to the marshal, he added: “This man probably tells the strict truth, but my business advertises only as ‘Frank’s Mail Order House.’” “Then there’s two in Pleasantville?” demanded the prisoner. “I think so, yes,” answered Frank. “I shall soon find out. At any rate, you have made a mistake in charging me with this swindle. You have damaged my office, and you must pay for it.” “Son,” eagerly ejaculated the prisoner, pressing his face close to the iron bars of his cell door, “you find me the right swindler, and give me a brief interview with him, and I’ll pay your bill twice over.” “We’ll let you know in a little time,” said the marshal, moving off. “And now for the United States Mail Order House,” said Frank to himself, as he left the village lock-up. “Of course that means--Dale Wacker.” CHAPTER XXVI MYSTERIOUS STET Main Street Block was the oldest business building in Pleasantville. It was here, according to Stet’s brief report, that Dale Wacker had gone into the mail order business. Frank attended to some necessary writing at the office. Then he went to Main Street Block. Downstairs the street floor of the building was occupied by stores that did a good trade. The upper floors, however, were only partly occupied. Frank went up the dusty stairs to the second story. Here were a photographer, a surveyor, and a tailor. Frank ascended the last flight of stairs. When he arrived at their top he found a small hallway ending at a door. “Why,” he said, “this floor is not divided off into offices. Looks as if it had been used for a lodge room. Yes, there is a peep-hole in that door. I’ll knock, anyhow.” Frank did knock. He heard some fumbling at a dirt-grimed window at one side of the hall. It moved slightly in as if set on hinges.