Again the signal--and this time Hollister and Sheehan closed in on their man, notifying him that he was under arrest and advising him to come along without creating any disturbance. "Arrest for what?" he demanded. "Passing counterfeit money," replied Hollister, flashing his badge. Then, as the man started to protest, Sheehan counseled him to reserve his arguments until later, and the trio made their way out of the inclosure in silence. When searched, in Baltimore, two sums of money were found upon the suspect--one roll in his left-hand trousers pocket being made up of genuine currency, including that which he had received for picking the winner of the first race, and the one in the right-hand pocket being entirely of counterfeit fifty-dollar bills--forty-eight in number. When questioned, the prisoner claimed that his name was Robert J. Thurene of New Haven, and added that there were plenty of people in the Connecticut city who would vouch for his respectability. "Then why," inquired the chief of the Secret Service, who had come over from Washington to take charge of the case, "do you happen to have two thousand four hundred dollars in counterfeit money on you?" At that moment Thurene dropped his bomb--or, rather, one of the many which rendered the case far from monotonous. "If you'll search my room at the Belvedere," he suggested, "you'll find some five thousand dollars more." "What?" demanded the chief. "Do you admit that you deliberately brought seven thousand five hundred dollars of counterfeit money here and tried to pass it?" "I admit nothing," corrected the arrested man. "You stated that the fifty-dollar bills which you found upon me when I was searched against my will were false. I'll take your word for that. But if they are counterfeit, I'm merely telling you that there are a hundred more like them in my room at the hotel." "Of course you're willing to state where they came from?" suggested the chief, who was beginning to sense the fact that something underlay Thurene's apparent sincerity. "Certainly. I found them." "Old stuff," sneered one of the operatives standing near by. "Not only an old alibi, but one which you'll have a pretty hard time proving." "Do you happen to have a copy of yesterday's _News_ handy?" Thurene asked. When the paper was produced he turned rapidly to the Lost and Found column and pointed to an advertisement which appeared there: FOUND--An envelope containing a sum of money. Owner may recover same by notifying Robert J. Thurene, Belvedere Hotel, and proving property. "There," he continued, after reading the advertisement aloud, "that is the notice which I inserted after finding the money which you say is counterfeit." "Where did you find it?"