“By no means,” Gordon returned calmly, still using Griswold’s expression as a guide. “There’s such a thing, though, as impersonation, my friend.” It was a venturesome leap, but it proved surprisingly successful. “By Jove!” ejaculated the millionaire, looking at the supposed Nick Carter in amazement and with a new respect. “You have hit the nail on the head, Mr. Carter! How in the world——” Gordon shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it was very simple,” he confessed. “I read it all in your face.” He rightly guessed that that would not make it seem any the less remarkable in Griswold’s eyes. “I don’t see how,” declared the millionaire. “Some stunt!” Cray commented admiringly. “I did just that, though,” Green Eye assured the millionaire. “Of course, I saw in advance that Simpson would have been powerless unless introduced by the manager of your local paper, and supplied with credentials from the New York office. The credentials might have been forged, to be sure, but a local introduction would have been out of the question without the assistance of a confederate to impersonate the manager, or some one else in authority on the paper. And if there was any impersonating to be done, it was clear that Simpson could do it himself. For the rest, I depended upon your expression, Mr. Griswold, to tell me when I got off the track.” “It is useless to try to belittle your achievements, sir,” the millionaire told him. “I consider it an evidence of most unusual ability. You have hit upon the truth in a manner that has taken my breath away. You are quite right, Mr. Carter. The trick was turned by means of impersonation, and the man impersonated was the business manager of the Hattontown _Observer_. Charles Danby is his name, and, as it happens, he and Simpson resemble each other more or less. Simpson pleaded overwork as a result of his extra duties in connection with the fund, and got permission to be away for a couple of days. Evidently he lost no time in going to Hattontown, and there he presented himself at the bank in the guise of Danby.” “The fellow must have had nerve!” contributed Jack Cray. “Hard to believe he isn’t a dyed-in-the-wool crook.” “It’s almost incredible,” Griswold agreed, “but apparently there’s no room for doubt that Simpson did the whole business. He was known at the bank, but no one suspected the deception, and the only thing the bank people can remember that was queer about him was his husky voice, which he attributed to a cold.