"Another thing, Uncle George was responsible for firing Chalfonte to-day. Apparently Chalfonte can't be a member of the gang, but a private friend of Miriam's. At any rate his doom was sealed from the moment Uncle George turned up. He was insolent at the table in his usual way, and, backed up by Uncle, Bobo fired him on the spot. Miriam couldn't say a word. Bobo is beginning to think Uncle George is the most wonderful man on earth. "'What do you want a secretary for, anyway,' Uncle said to Bobo. "Bobo stammered something about knowing nothing about business. "'Pshaw!' said Uncle in his hearty way. 'If you want any advice come to me!'" "Did you get a sample of his handwriting?" asked Jack. "Yes, by great good luck. I didn't see how I was going to manage it. But he wrote a note in our rooms to-day. I was hoping he might give it to me to post, but he didn't. However, there was a new blotter on the desk, which took a perfect impression of several lines that he wrote. I have just mailed you the blotter. Hold it up to a mirror. The note you see is just a bit of camouflage. He is enclosing a subscription to the Buffalo Express." "What about their arrangements for to-morrow?" asked Jack. "I can only tell you about lunch. I know that Uncle George and Aunt Sally are coming to lunch in our rooms because I heard Bobo giving a special order over the 'phone." "What time?" "One o'clock." "Very well. If the handwriting matches up, you may expect us about that time." "Heavens! How my heart beats when I think of it!" "You needn't be there if you'd rather not." "I wouldn't miss it for a farm!" "Good! Then you can give me a signal. When they are all seated at the table, come down to the door of Silas Gyde's sitting-room and tap three times. On your way back leave the doors open behind you." Jack possessed three letters in "Mr. B.'s" own hand; that which had fallen on the table in the Alpine Heights restaurant; that which he had found pinned to Bobo's overcoat; and that which had been handed to Mrs. Cleaver in the Hotel Bienvenu. The same hand had likewise kept the card index system. It was a hand of strong individuality, the letters quaintly formed as in antique script, suggesting an orderly, painstaking and somewhat vain character in the writer, who must have gone to no end of trouble to form such a hand in youth. The piece of blotting paper arrived in the first mail next morning. Held up before a mirror, a single glance was sufficient to identify it. There were the same quaint and artistic characters--unmistakable!