"And you do not seem much worried about it," she cried, in
wonder.

"Not much, I confess, Mary," said Tom, and grinned.

"But if, as you suppose, that man was working for Mr.
Bartholomew's enemies

"I am convinced that he was, for he did not rob me of my watch
and chain or loose money. And he could have done so easily. I
don't mind about the old wallet. There was only five dollars in
it."

"But those notes you said you took of Mr. Bartholomew's offer?"

"Oh, yes," chuckled Tom again. "Those notes. Well, I may as
well explain to you, Mary, and not try to puzzle you any longer.
But that highwayman is sure going to be puzzled a long, long
time."

"What do you mean, Tom?"

"Those notes were jotted down in my own brand of shorthand.
Such stenographic notes would scarcely be readable by anybody
else. Ho, ho! When that bold, bad hold-up gent turns the notes
over to Montagne Lewis, or whoever his principal is, there will
be a sweet time."

"Oh, Tom! isn't that fun?" cried Mary, likewise much amused.