"I don't suppose there are any blizzard pictures among those miniatures, Ben?" observed Dave, with a laugh just before turning in. "There is a picture of one army officer in a big, shaggy uniform which looks as if it might be worn because of cold weather," answered Ben; and then, as the miniatures were very close to his heart, the youth began to talk about them again. This discussion lasted for another quarter of an hour, after which the chums retired and were soon deep in the land of slumber. Although none of our friends knew it, every word of their conversation had been listened to eagerly by Ward Porton and the man with him. They had noted carefully all that had been said about the Basswood fortune, and about the miniatures having been placed in the real estate dealer's safe awaiting inspection by the critics who were to visit Mr. Wadsworth at his mansion. Both had noted also what Dave had said about leaving his overcoat and his cap on the rack on the lower floor of the hotel. "A hundred thousand dollars' worth of miniatures!" murmured Tim Crapsey, after the sounds in the adjoining room had ceased. "Say, that's some fortune, sure enough!" "But pictures! Humph, what good are they?" returned Ward Porton, in disgust. "I'd rather have my fortune in something a little more usable." "Oh, pictures are not so bad, and miniatures can be handled very easily," answered Tim Crapsey. His small eyes began to twinkle. "Jest you let me git my hands on 'em, and I'll show you wot I kin do. I know a fence in New York who'll take pictures jest as quick as anything else." "And what would he do with them after he got them?" questioned Ward Porton curiously. "Oh, he'd ship 'em 'round to different places after he got 'em doctored up, and git rid of 'em somehow to art dealers and collectors. Of course, he might not be able to git full value for 'em; but if they're worth a hundred thousand dollars he might git ten or twenty thousand, and that ain't bad, is it?" and Tim Crapsey looked at Ward Porton suggestively. "Easy enough to talk, but how are you going to get your hands on those miniatures?" demanded the former moving-picture actor, speaking, however, in a low tone, so that none of those in the next room might hear him. "I jest got an idee," croaked Tim Crapsey. He was a man who consumed a large amount of liquor, and his voice showed it. "Didn't you hear wot that chap said about leaving his coat and hat downstairs? If you could fool them shopkeepers the way you did, then, if you had that feller's hat and coat, and maybe fixed up a bit to look like that photograph you had of him, you might be able to go to the Basswood house and fool the folks there." "I don't quite understand?"