the lobby and apparently reading a newspaper with serious attention.

He hesitated a moment, then quietly walked over to a vacant chair beside
the red-haired one and sat down. The youth turned the paper, glanced
casually at his neighbor, and continued reading.

"A detective, I believe," said Mershone, in a low, matter of fact tone.

"Who? me?" asked Fogerty, lowering the paper.

"Yes. Your age deceived me for a time. I imagined you were a newsboy or
a sporting kid from the country; but now I observe you are older than
you appear. All sorts of people seem to drift into the detective
business. I suppose your present occupation is shadowing me."

Fogerty smiled. The smile was genuine.

"I might even be a lawyer, sir," he replied, "and in that case I should
undertake to cross-examine you, and ask your reasons for so queer a
charge."

"Or you might be a transient guest at this hotel," the other returned,
in the same bantering tone, "for I saw you at breakfast and luncheon.
Pretty fair _chef_ here, isn't he? But you didn't stick to that part,
you know. You followed me up-town, where I made a call on a relative,
and you studied the colored globes in a druggist's window when I went
away. I wonder why people employ inexperienced boys in such important
matters. In your case, my lad, it was easy enough to detect the
detective. You even took the foolish chance of heading me off, and
returned to this hotel before I did. Now, then, is my charge unfounded?"