But the forged letter! Could it be possible that she had received it as she said, and that she was an innocent holder of it, no matter what scheme might be back of it? The detective said to himself at last: “That is the only way of accounting for the thing, and yet who was to be benefited, and how, if the girl was proved to be Field’s daughter and placed in possession of the property? It could not be done without her sanction, hence she must have been a party in it.” CHAPTER XXIII. THE STOLEN SILVER. The next step was to ascertain if Lorton had been to any of the well-known “fences” the night before, and if he had, to learn what he had sold. If he could learn absolutely that Lorton was in the city something would be gained. And if it should prove that the goods he had disposed of included the silverware that had been taken from Mr. Field’s house, then he would have a good case, and it would only remain to get together evidence. As it stood now he not only had to find evidence, but also to make that evidence point to somebody. With this purpose in view, then, he turned his steps in the direction of Gorse’s place, patronized as extensively by crooks as any in the city. This man carried on business in a peculiar way, but one that was well calculated to meet with success in his trade. What had originally been a single store had been divided by a partition into two parts. In one of these half-stores there was carried on what might by courtesy be termed a jewelry business, as the window contained old watches of little or no value and a quantity of worthless trinkets. This business was run under the name of a tool of Gorse’s, who had his name over the door of the other half-store as “Retailer of Wines, Liquors and Fine Cigars.” A man entering the liquor store might be supposed to be doing so simply to obtain a drink, while under his coat would be concealed the proceeds of some burglary that he was about to dispose of. The “fence” proper was located at the rear of the jewelry part of the premises, a door at the back of the saloon communicating with it. Nick Carter so thoroughly disguised himself that he could not by any possibility be recognized, and then sauntered into the saloon. Gorse himself was behind the bar. Nodding to him, Nick said: “I want to see the proprietor. Is he in?” “That depends.” “On what?” “The nature of your business.” “It is important.” “What might it be?” “That is for him alone to know. From a description that was given me, I should judge that you were the man himself.” “I ain’t.” Nick Carter knew better than this. He was positive that this was Gorse, for he had seen him a number of times before, and he said: “If you are Gorse, I’ve got something to say to you of the utmost importance. If you are not Gorse, then something will have to go by the board that you’ll be sorry for.” “What do you mean?” “Nothing.”