At the same moment he sprang to his feet as if in great astonishment, and so did the unwelcome companion of the two ladies. “What do you mean, sir?” shouted the latter, with a face that was white and red by turns, but then he added, or seemed to add, “I’ll pick all the pockets in this car if I choose.” “You will, will you?” exclaimed the big man, in a voice whose lion-like depth of “roar” contrasted strangely with the tones of his previous remark. “I didn’t say you had picked any pockets, but I don’t mean you shall, either.” “I didn’t say that,” began the flashy man, but his next words were, “and I’ve dropped hers on the floor.” With that he put on such a look of abject terror as no human face can possibly counterfeit, and sprang away from his place, crying out: “It must be the devil!” “Very likely,” responded the big man, as he started in pursuit, but there were other hands extended, and the frightened runaway was brought to an immediate stand. Meantime, the ladies, scarcely less astonished than the pickpocket, had been making a hurried search. “I have indeed lost my pocketbook, Sibyl,” said the elder. “And there it is, mother, on the floor, just where he said he had dropped it,” exclaimed Sibyl, but at that very moment Bar Vernon was picking it up. “Thank you, sir,” said Sibyl, as she took it in her hand, but Bar replied: “You’d better open it at once and see if anything is missing.” “Why so?” asked Sibyl. “Oh! miss,” exclaimed Val, “do just as he says. It was his work detecting that man. He’s a wonderful fellow.” The elder lady looked in Val’s handsome, earnest young face, with a very motherly smile, as she said: “Let me see, Sibyl. I’ve no doubt the boys are right. It won’t do any harm.” The pocketbook was opened, but it was nearly empty. “Exactly,” remarked Bar. “Now he must be searched.” “You seem to know a good deal for a fellow of your age,” very loudly and roughly exclaimed one of the bystanders. “We’d better look to your case. Who are you, anyway?” “You here, too, Mr. Bonnet?” was Bar’s quick rejoinder. “Gentlemen, here’s another man that mustn’t get out of the car till the money’s been found.” “Mr. Bonnet” made a sudden movement, but he found himself in the strong grasp of the big man. There was no manner of use in struggling, but the latter asked our hero: “You know these fellows, it seems; are you a detective?” “What do you think about it?” asked Bar. “I never saw either of them before, but I know that man for a professional pickpocket, and this one for his bonnet--his bully.” “One of ’em’s got that money, then!” exclaimed the big man. “Come, my fine fellow, shell over. I knew the railroad company had set detectives on the express trains, but I’d never have taken them boys for ’em.” “Me?” exclaimed Val, indignantly; “I’m a son of Dr. Randall Manning, of New York, and this is my friend, Mr. Barnaby Vernon.”