"But we are not in Maine," said the mill owner.
"Then I guess I'll have to let it pass, Mr. Rice. Besides, I may be mistaken after all," went on Owen.
At these last words Baptiste Ducrot looked much relieved.
"Sure, you mak meestake," he said. "Dat udder feller he mus' look lak me, dat's all."
"Well, let it go," said Owen lightly, and motioned for Mr. Rice to move away with him. They walked off, and after a few minutes Baptiste Ducrot resumed his labor.
"He is my man," whispered Owen. "There isn't the least bit of a mistake. I can prove it, but not right away. I wish you'd keep him here until I can let the authorities know."
"I don't want a thief in my employ," returned Philip Rice.
"Can't you keep him until I send word to the Maine authorities and to Mr. Wilbur?"
"Yes—if he'll stay."
"All right; and if he goes away, kindly try to find out where he goes to," concluded Owen.