"I hate to be dogging your footsteps, sir, in this fashion," Mr. Donovan answered, with obvious sincerity. "Still, I--" "You have your orders, no doubt." "Well, yes, sir," admitted the plain-clothes man with reluctance. "I have." "You were to keep your eye on us until the pocketbook reached its owner." "That's about it, sir. Not that I personally have the least suspicion that a gentleman like you would--" "That is all right, my man. I perfectly understand your position," Mr. Tolman cut in. "After all, you have your duty to do and business is business. We'll just telephone Mr. Ackerman that we are coming so that we shall be sure of catching him, and then we will go right up there." "Very well, sir." Stephen's father started toward the telephone and then, as if struck by a sudden thought, paused and turned. "Steve," he said, "I believe you are the person to communicate with Mr. Ackerman. Call him up and tell him you have found his purse and that you and your father would like to come up to his house, if it will be convenient, and return it." "All right, Dad." "You will find his number on this slip of paper, sonny," the detective added, handing the lad a card. "He is not at his office. He went home to lunch in the hope that he had left the pocketbook there." After some delay Stephen succeeded in getting the number written on the card. A servant answered the summons. "May I speak to Mr. Ackerman, please?" inquired the lad. "He is at luncheon? No, it would not do the least good for me to tell you my name for he would not know who it was. Just tell him that the boy who sat beside him this morning on the Fifth Avenue bus--" there was a little chuckle. "Oh, he will be here directly, will he? I thought perhaps he would." A moment later a cheery voice which Steve at once recognized to be that of the steamboat man came over the wire: "Well, sonny?" "I found your bill book, Mr. Ackerman, and my father and I would like to bring it up to you." "Well, well! that is fine news!" cried the man at the other end of the line. "How did you know who it belonged to?" "Oh, I--we--found out--my father and I," stammered the lad. "May we come up to your house with it now?" "You would much better let me come to you; then only one person will be inconvenienced," the New Yorker returned pleasantly. "Where are you staying?" "At the Manhattan." "You must not think of taking the trouble of coming way up here. Let me join you and your father at your hotel." "Very well, Mr. Ackerman. If you'd rather--" "I certainly should rather!" was the emphatic answer. "I could not think of bringing two people so far out of their way." "There are three of us!" squeaked Stephen. "Three?" "Yes, sir. We have another person--a friend--with us," explained the boy, with quiet enjoyment. How easy it was to laugh now!