Guided by various inquiries, he finally drove up to the small farm- house where the parents of Wilcox & Co. resided. On entering, the officer said, "I am in search of Mr. Wilcox, of the firm of Wilcox & Co." "I am your man," remarked a youth, perhaps twenty-two years of age, whose countenance at once suggested acuteness and cunning. "What will you have?" "I would like to take a look about the arsenal and gun-factory located here," replied the detective, leisurely surveying the landscape. "The works are in Cleveland," answered the great inventor. "You can see them by calling there." "But where is the arsenal? I understand it was situated here." "Your information is correct," replied the young man. "That is it, across the road." Casting his eye in the direction indicated, the officer saw a rickety woodshed about seven feet by nine in size. Observing the smile of amused incredulity that played upon the features of his questioner, Wilcox reiterated, with an air of half offended dignity,-- "That's it. We keep our seven-shooters there. But look here; before this thing goes any further, I want to know who you are." "Oh, certainly, sir," answered the stranger. "You will find nothing about me that I care to keep concealed. I am a special agent of the post-office department, and my business here is to arrest you." "Why, what have I done to warrant such a visit?" queried youthful innocence. "I shall be happy to make that point clear to you," replied the detective, "though I am afraid the enlightenment will come too late to prove of much service to you. In using the mails for the purpose of swindling, you have violated the laws of the country, and must suffer the penalty." "But where does the swindling come in?" expostulated Wilcox. "I advertised a seven-shooter. I didn't say anything about a revolver. It will shoot seven shot, or twice that number, if you only put them in. If anybody is green enough to suppose I meant a revolver, that's his lookout, not mine." "We are not called upon to decide the point," said the special agent. "The question is one for the court and the jury. But you must go with me to Cleveland. So get ready." Finding persuasion, argument, and remonstrance alike useless, the great mechanical genius packed his satchel in preparation for the journey. Once fairly on the road, he became communicative, and explained the reasons which led him to embark in the enterprise. "In the first place," said he, "I read Barnum's Life, and accepted the doctrine that the American people like to be humbugged. I planned the shooter myself, and, in wording the circular, aimed to cover the points and keep within the law. I think I have succeeded." "I beg leave to differ," argued the special agent. "Aside from the general falsity of the description, there are specific claims which you cannot make good."