At the hotel was a close spy on Tim, although he little suspected it. Dean Mercer had acted wisely and cautiously, and had secured the very next room to that occupied by Tim. He had cut a small hole in the partition between the two rooms, and so closely did he watch Tim and overhear his hopeful soliloquies, that he knew that the latter expected Colonel Darringford that night. He did not, however, know where Tim intended to meet him, and at dusk Dean went to a doorway near the hotel entrance and lingered there, determined, if Tim came out, to follow him wherever he went. Dean had resolved on a definite plan of action now, in pursuance of Marcus Ellison’s suggestions. He resolved to learn the result of Tim’s interview with Colonel Darringford, then he would hasten to the police and demand his arrest, and if the colonel gave Tim a large sum of money as he expected, its possession by Tim would go to prove Dean’s assertions. Dean lingered in the doorway watching the hotel entrance, but Tim did not come out. “I guess if he expects the colonel it is at his room” decided Dean at last. “Hello! there is the very man.” Yes, Colonel Darringford came slowly down the street at that moment. He was not alone. A companion, who seemed to be only walking his way, was with him. “It’s the town marshal at Millville,” murmured Dean somewhat concernedly. “They shake hands, and Morton goes on, but the colonel has entered the hotel. I must get to my room and see all that goes on--stop, sir! What do you mean?” “Well! well! it is Dean Mercer!” Dean struggled in a strong grasp. He had crossed the road, forgetting all about the town marshal. The latter had seen him, stared at him, and now he held him firmly--a prisoner. Dean was too overcome to speak. “Disguised yet, eh? But I know you. How lucky I chanced to walk this way with the colonel from the steamer!” chuckled Morton. “Dean, you’ve led us a troublesome chase. But I’ve got you now!” “Mr. Morton!” gasped Dean. “Well?” “You mean to arrest me?” “Ha! ha! I should say so!” cried the marshal exultantly. “Please don’t!” “Ho! ho!” “That is, just now,” pleaded Dean desperately. “I won’t try to escape, honest I won’t. I never burned the _Spray_, I never robbed Judge Oglesby!” “Oh, you didn’t? Well, you will come on to jail!” “Do you want to learn the truth--do you want to recover the money that was stolen?” asked Dean. “Certainly.” “Then come with me, only for a minute, Mr. Morton. I promise you I won’t try to escape, only you must come with me into that hotel, and I will prove to you that I am innocent.” The marshal hesitated. “No tricks!” he said sternly. “Lead the way.” “Cautiously, sir.” Morton clutched Dean tighter as the latter led the way to his room and then to the hole in the partition that looked into Tim Downey’s room. “Now, sir, look and listen!” In amazement Morton peered into the adjoining apartment. “Incredible!” he gasped.