“What interest has the Chief in the Brainard murder?” demanded Mitchell, his professional jealousy aroused. “Why has he sent you here?” A subdued bumping and labored breathing announced the approach of Cato, and Mitchell’s question remained unanswered as the old servant shuffled over to the fireplace and proceeded to build a fire on the bed of ashes. Anthony studied him for some little time in silence, then becoming aware that Cato, while pretending to be absorbed in his work, was covertly watching them, he turned and addressed Mitchell. “I’ve heard that Dr. Thorne is a wonder at diagnosing a case--that he has marvelous instinct--” Cato faced about in wrath, one hand poised in air clutched a piece of kindling. “What yo’ mean by sayin’ my marster’s got in_stinct_?” he retorted. “He ain’t got no instinct--he’s got in_sense_.” Anthony retreated out of reach of the kindling wood. “Everyone tells me that Dr. Thorne is a fine physician,” he hastened to say. “I was complimenting him.” “Was yo’?” Cato looked doubtful. “Then I ax yo’ pardon.” He placed the last piece of kindling on the hearth and throwing on several logs paused to see them catch, and again hobbled from the room. Mitchell waited a minute, then tiptoed to the door leading to the kitchen and made sure that Cato had really disappeared. Finally convinced that Cato was not within earshot, he turned to his companion. “You haven’t answered my question. Why is the Secret Service interested in Bruce Brainard’s murder?” “It isn’t interested in the murder, that I am aware of,” replied Anthony, moving his chair closer to Mitchell. “I was sent here to trace a counterfeit Treasury note presented in payment at Brentano’s store by Hugh Wyndham, and he tells me that the bank note was received by Miss Millicent Porter when cashing a check at her bank.” “Humph! it must have been a marvelous counterfeit to get by a bank teller,” commented Mitchell. “So you had your trip here for nothing?” “I am not so sure of that.” Anthony lowered his voice. “Wyndham told me that the bank note was first given him by Miss Dorothy Deane; she states that she received it from her sister, Vera Deane, and the latter declares that she got it from Miss Millicent Porter, who cashed her check in Washington on Monday morning.” “Well, that’s straight enough,” exclaimed Mitchell impatiently. “Better question the bank officials, Anthony.” “I will--later. Just now I want a little information about the Deane girls. Have you been in touch with them while investigating the Brainard murder? I ask,” he added slowly, “because a bag containing some counterfeit money was found on a street car. In the handbag was a visiting-card bearing Vera Deane’s name. Taking that in consideration with Wyndham’s statement that Miss Deane’s sister had given him the counterfeit bill--it looks fishy.”