“Is that your only excuse?” “Just at present.” Old King Brady bowed very politely. Then he said to Harry: “Come! Let us get away from here.” The detectives left the saloon. They had no idea of leaving the vicinity, though. Their purpose was to remain as long as possible in close touch with the villains. If the truth was told, the Bradys were not at all sure of their case. They had not the slightest bit of legal evidence against the trio. What they were satisfied of in their own minds could never be proved in a court of law. So they were baffled. But the bull-dog tenacity of Old King Brady’s nature was never more evident than now. Leaving the saloon they dodged into a dark doorway near and waited. “Harry,” said Old King Brady in a low tone of voice, “that old Blood is a fiend in human shape.” “Indeed he is!” “We must convict him!” “We certainly will do so.” Just then Harry gave a start and nudged Old King Brady. At first, unseen to both, a man with muffled features had been standing in the shadows of the doorway. He now emerged. As he came into the light he turned sharply and said: “Gentlemen, I wish you luck, but you’re on the wrong tack!” “Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What do you mean, sir?” “You are tracking the trio with a belief that they are involved in that affair at the Fifteenth street house.” “We are!” “Well, you’re wrong. They are not the men.” “Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What do you know about it?” “I know it all.” “Who are you?” “I am Ralph Scott, detective, the same as you. I have the right clew!” The two Bradys stared at the fellow. “You have?” exclaimed Harry. “I would like to know what it is?” “I can prove it, too!” “That is best.” “Well, I can tell you that the young cashier is the guilty man.” “Do you mean Allerton Banks?” “Yes.” The fellow spoke positively. The detectives exchanged glances. “Look here, Scott,” said Old King Brady, “you’re not a Secret Service man.” The fellow looked defiant. “It isn’t necessary to be in the Secret Service to be a detective,” he snapped. “Perhaps not. But what service are you in?” “I have no ties. I am in the business on my own hook!” “Private detective?” “Yes.” “Umph! What is your clew?” “I got it through a man who is in a position to know all about the case.” “Who is he?” “That is my affair.” “I can tell you who you mean.” Scott looked incredulous. “Well,” he said, “who?” “Napoleon Blood, the uncle and guardian of the dead girl.” The private detective started. His face flushed angrily. “Eh? You’d better guess again,” he said. “Who told you that?” “Is it not so?” “I refuse to say.” “Well, how much has Blood promised to pay you to convict the cashier?” Scott looked angry and baffled. He glared at the detectives savagely. Then muttering he began to move away. “Hold on!” said Harry. “Take a bit of advice before you go.” “What do you mean?” demanded Scott, in a surly way.