He was paying scant heed to the detective's words. The officer could but see that fact. The boy might burden the postal service with his missives for aught that Gorham cared. "Or else," thought the man of suspicion, "he is very cleverly pretending indifference." "The letter was addressed to you," said the detective suddenly. There was an abrupt change of manner. "To me!" exclaimed Gorham sharply. He thrust his cigar between his teeth and with a hasty gesture drew from his breast pocket the budget of letters which he had placed there unopened. He instantly distinguished the aspect of Ned's letter from the others. He stared hard at the eccentric handwriting; then he ripped open the crumpled envelope. It contained half a dollar wrapped within a page evidently torn from an old copy-book, on which, without date or signature, two words were scrawled. "_Conscience Money_," he read, amazed. He looked from the bit of paper to the money. He looked from the money to the bit of paper. Then he handed both to the detective. The detective silently gazed at the letter. With his head set inquiringly askew he looked more like a fox than ever,--very sly, very wise, so very wise as to appreciate that there are a few things--exceedingly few--which even _he_ could not explain. For _this_ could not be construed as an attempt to _extort_ money! The manager broke the silence with a laugh. "I understand," he said. "This is the boy who says that he got into the theatre without paying--and it seems that his conscience nabbed him!" And he laughed again. His face changed as once more he fixed his eyes on the simple scrawl. "And afterward he was arrested! Poor little chap!" he ejaculated gravely. And again, "Poor little chap!" With a sudden look of determination, or rather of impulse, for Gorham rarely acted from deliberate intention, he set his hat firmly on his head, threw the half-smoked cigar into the gutter, and without another word strode off abruptly down the street, leaving the detective staring blankly after him. With the same swift, resolute step Gorham presently took his way to a great, many-storied building, and paused at the office of a broker whose name was emblazoned on the glass door. Here he pushed through the outer room, where several clerks, office-boys, and typewriters, a telephone, and a stock indicator seemed to be the presiding genii of the place. It was a very quiet day; there was an interval of stagnation in the market; and without ceremony he approached the inner door. "Admission free?" he threw over his shoulder to a clerk, with an agreeable smile. He hardly waited for the formal reply that Mr. Vanbigh was disengaged and would be pleased to see him. Gorham evidently had no doubts as to his welcome, for he opened the door of the inner room without so much as a tap on the panel.