When Watson reached his little cottage at the edge of the mining camp, his wife, a slender, blue-eyed girl scarcely twenty years of age, met him on the porch. "Dick, you are late tonight. I have been waiting dinner for twenty minutes. Why, what is the matter?" she asked, noticing that he had a worried look on his face. "Are you ill?" "No, just worried," he replied. "What has gone wrong?" "I will tell you after a while." "Come on in and get ready for dinner, then. Father is restless this evening. I think this damp weather is affecting him. It seems like he always breathes harder when the weather is damp." The evening meal passed in silence except that John Hinds, Mrs. Watson's father, who was a consumptive, talked about the damp atmosphere and its unpleasant effects on his breathing apparatus and expressed thanks that there were but few damp days in Arizona. Watson answered his father-in-law in an absent-minded way. Mrs. Watson was worried because her husband could not eat, consequently she had no appetite. After the meal was over John Hinds went into the living room, leaving Watson and his wife alone in the dining room. An hour later when Watson left the house his wife's eyes were red with crying. "It's awful," she said, "but I suppose it must be done." When he reached the mine office he found King waiting for him at the door. "Waiting for me! Am I late?" "I think I am a little ahead of time. "It's a little damp and chilly," Harold remarked, when they had entered the office and he had removed his top coat. "Yes, and damp weather is rather unusual in this country." "So I have been told." The bookkeeper took a seat at his desk and Harold King seated himself opposite. "I was much interested in the story you were telling me about that Zala banker," Watson began. "You say that Stover claimed that Babcock owed him and that he took the bank stock to settle the debt?" "Yes." Watson took a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered the box to Harold. "No, thank you, I do not use them." "This is one of my bad habits," Watson explained, as he took a cigarette from the box and lighted it. "I usually smoke a package a day, and some days, when anything worries me, I use two packages. You spoke of the cashier's leaving the night of the same day that Babcock was injured. What is your opinion? Do you think that this cashier robbed Babcock or was an accomplice in robbing him?" "No, I don't think that; but I think that this cashier can give some valuable information." "Well, you are right. I am that cashier." "I knew that. I came here on purpose to see you." "You did! How did you locate me?" "I located you by means of the eye of the Invisible Empire." "What! You located me through the Ku Klux Klan?" "Yes, I had three million secret service men looking for you." "I have heard that there are some Klansmen here, but I do not know any of them."