"Gee! That's more than old Griffin himself has in cash, anyway," Farland declared. "Maybe it's a good thing that girl turned you down. You'd probably be a clerk at a few thousand a year, if she hadn't. How'd you make the coin?" "Mines and fruit and water power and logs," said Prale. "Sounds simple enough. When the detective business goes on the blink, I may take a turn at it myself." "If you ever need money, Jim, call on me. If you want to engage bigger offices, hire operatives, branch out----" "Stop it!" Farland cried. "I want nothing of the kind. I'm a peculiar sort of duck--don't care about being rich at all. I just want to be sure I'll have a good living for myself and the wife and kids, and have a few friends, and be able to look every man in town straight in the eye. I'd rather work for a friend for nothing than do work I don't like for ten thousand an hour." "I believe you!" Prale said. CHAPTER V THE COUSIN An hour later, having parted with Detective Jim Farland, Sidney Prale walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, determined to go to his hotel suite and rest for the remainder of the evening. His conversation and short visit with Farland had put him in a better humor. There was no mistaking the quality of Farland's friendship. He and Prale had been firm friends ten years before, when Farland was on duty in the financial district, and they had made it a point at that time to eat luncheon together when Farland's duties permitted. New York seemed a better place, even with one friend among several million persons. So Prale swung his stick jauntily, and hummed the Spanish love song again, and told himself that Rufus Shepley and Kate Gilbert, old Griffin and the hotel manager and the rest of the motley crew that had made the day miserable for him amounted to nothing in the broader scheme of things, and were not to be taken seriously. He came to a block where there were few pedestrians, where the great shops had their lights out and their night curtains up. He heard steps behind him, and presently a soft voice. "Sid! Sid!" Sidney Prale whirled around, alert and on guard, for he did not recognize the voice. A medium-sized man stood before him, a man of about his own age, who had a furtive manner and wore a beard. "Don't you know me, Sid?" "Can't say that I do!" "Why, I'm your cousin, George Lerton. I'm the only relative you've got in the world, unless you got married while you were away." Prale stepped aside so that the nearest light flashed on the face of the man before him. "Well, if it isn't!" he said. "Didn't recognize you at first. How long have you been wearing the alfalfa on your face?" "Two or three years," George Lerton told him, grinning a bit. "I saw your name in the passenger list, Sid, and wanted to see you. I found out where you are stopping----" "Why didn't you come to the hotel, then, or leave a note?" Prale asked. "Come on up now." "I--I wanted to talk to you----"