"Certainly I have." "Haven't been out of town at all, eh?" "I had no occasion to." "No?" asked the detective, with a smile. "No!" retorted Mason, sharply. "Do you know Sim Johnson, your uncle's valet?" "Of course I do." "Are you in the habit of going on sprees with that colored man?" A startled look flashed across Mason's face, an expression of deep fear shone for an instant in his cold eyes, and he sprang to his feet. By an effort of will he subdued his alarm, a dark frown mantled his brow and he glared furiously at the detectives and demanded: "Do you mean to insult me?" A chuckle escaped the old detective and he replied, blandly: "Insult you? By no means." "Then what do you mean by asking such an impertinent question, sir?" haughtily demanded Mason. "Only this," replied Old King Brady, calmly. "We were down at your uncle's place at Swamp Angel, in Georgia, the other night, and learned there that you and Sim Johnson were on a toot there together." "It's an infernal lie!" yelled Mason, losing his temper. Old King Brady smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," he assented. "But if it isn't, I'll tell you how you may know that we were aware of it. My partner and I are the two who called there to see you, and couldn't, as you were then supposed to be sleeping off your jag." Mason had a queer expression upon his face. He looked puzzled, angry and curious, and finally asked: "How did you happen to go way down there to my uncle's place in Georgia, looking for me, I'd like to know?" "Important business brought us to that neighborhood, Mr. Mason." "May I inquire what it was?" "You may, but we won't tell you." "Insolent!" exclaimed the young man, bridling up again. "Your question was worse!" "Well, to bring this interview to a close, I deny your ugly insinuation, and declare that I was not out of New York since my uncle vanished. Now, if you have nothing to say except to cast aspersions upon my character, I will wish you good-morning, as I am busy and my time is valuable." "That's a polite hint for us to go, I presume?" "I'll be frank with you. It is." "Very well, Mr. Mason. We'll trouble you no further--for the present." And bowing low, the detectives walked out of the office. A cab was awaiting them out in Broad street and they entered it, and were driven rapidly uptown on the west side. "You've got him guessing," laughed Harry, as they sped along. "He knows I've caught him in a lie," Old King Brady answered. "Going to the broker's house now?" "Yes. I wish to question his daughter and the valet." "Did you notice anything peculiar about Mason?" "His face, and voice, and actions seemed strangely familiar to me." "That's what I mean, exactly." "Haven't we met him before?" "Well," said Harry, "if he were dressed like an undertaker, wore false side-whiskers and called himself Solomon Gloom, don't you think he would resemble the villain who shot me in Thirty-sixth street?"