on."

Tom was soon at Mansburg, and going to the post-office handed in the
letter for registry. Bearing in mind his father's words, he looked
about to see if there were any suspicious characters, but the only
person he noticed was a well-dressed man, with a black mustache, who
seemed to be intently studying the schedule of the arrival and
departure of the mails.

"Do you want the receipt for the registered, letter sent to you here
or at Shopton?" asked the clerk of Tom. "Come to think of it,
though, it will have to come here, and you can call for it. I'll
have it returned to Mr. Barton Swift, care of general delivery, and
you can get it the next time you are over," for the clerk knew Tom.

"That will do," answered our hero, and as he turned away from the
window he saw that the man who had been inquiring about the mails
was regarding him curiously. Tom thought nothing of it at the time,
but there came an occasion when he wished that he had taken more
careful note of the well-dressed individual. As the youth passed out
of the outer door he saw the man walk over to the registry window.

"He seems to have considerable mail business," thought Tom, and then
the matter passed from his mind as he mounted his wheel and hurried
to the machine shop.

"Say, I'm awfully sorry," announced Mr. Merton when Tom said he had
come for the bolts, "but they're not quite done. They need
polishing. I know I promised them to your father to-day, and he can
have them, but he was very particular about the polish, and as one