"Who is the fellow, anyway?" asked the clerk.
"That's just it! Who is he? Nobody knows. He came here from some little place back in the country several months ago, and went to work in the Downs & Company shoe factory."
"If that's the case, why don't you ask your uncle about him? He's both the company and the manager in the firm, isn't he? He'd know whether the fellow was to be trusted or not."
"I intend to," was the answer; "and say, Billy, if you don't mind, I'll take that coin. Here's its equivalent."
He pushed a rustling new bank-note toward his friend. "See me play Sherlock Holmes now. I always did think I'd make a good detective."
"Look out," was the warning reply. "You have only a slim bit of circumstantial evidence, and it would be hard on the boy to start such a tale if there were no truth in it."
With the coin in his pocket, Ralph sauntered down to his uncle's office. It was some time before the busy man could spare time to listen to him.
"Well," he said at last, looking up, pen in hand, "what can I do for you this morning, Ralph?" He had always taken a special interest in his sister's only son, and now smiled kindly as he approached.
"Oh, nothing, thank you, uncle. I just dropped in to ask you about one of the employees in the factory. Who is this Alec Stoker, and where did he come from?"
The manager's brow contracted an instant in thought. The factory was a large one, and the roll of employees long.