"Very well, sir." "It is Clayton, Illinois, to the north of Alton, on the river. Now, can you remember Clayton?" "I will think of Henry Clay." "That will be a good reminder. As to the State, you are not very likely to forget that. Now, if you find the paper, inclose it in an envelope, and mail it to JAMES GREY, Clayton, Illinois. As soon as I receive it, I will send you, or bring you, a hundred dollars." "Very well, sir; I will try, but I am not sure whether I shall succeed. It's harder than the other job." "Are you suspected of that?" "I don't think so." "That is not all. I shall want to learn about the fellow's movements. He may be planning some conspiracy, of which it is important that I should be apprised. Now, you are in the same office, and likely to know what is going on." "Yes, sir." "I want you to watch carefully, and, whenever you learn anything worthy my knowing, write me immediately, to the address I have given you. See if you remember it." "Clayton, Illinois." "For every letter containing information of value, I will send you ten dollars. I shall not write direct from Clayton, lest the letter be seen, but I will manage to have my letters posted from St. Louis. That is where Gilbert supposes I am living." "Perhaps you had better direct to my boarding-place, and not to the store." "A good suggestion. Give me your address." James Grey took it down in his memorandum book. "I believe that is all," he said. "Remain faithful to my interests," he added, "and I will take care you do not regret it." "I shall not regret it, if it interferes with Gilbert Grey." "If you are his enemy, you cannot harm him more than by devoting yourself to my service." "I will do it." James Grey now hurried away, and Maurice went back to the store. He thought himself unsuspected of the theft of the paper, but he did not long remain so, and it was through his own imprudence that it happened. The black mustache which he had used as a disguise he thrust carelessly in his vest pocket. One day in the store, in drawing out his watch-key, the mustache came too, and dropped on the floor. Maurice stooped hastily to pick it up, but not till Gilbert had seen it. The latter at once remembered the servant's description of the young man who called for his opera-glass. "How long have you had that mustache, Maurice?" he asked, pointedly. "I bought it yesterday," muttered Maurice, in confusion. "I thought you might have had it longer," said Gilbert, quietly. Maurice did not answer. "Now I know who stole the paper," thought our hero. "I must be on my guard against him." He said nothing further; but Maurice knew that he was suspected, and it only incensed him the more against his fellow-clerk. CHAPTER XXVI. MAURICE AND BESSIE BENTON.