“I don’t fancy mixing up in a blackmailing game,” observed the stranger. “Now then, Shallock, I’ll give you a last chance. You arrange your business so you can pay me one hundred dollars a week from to-day, the balance by the first of the month, or I’ll foreclose on your security.”
“It’s a bargain,” declared Shallock, in a tone of hopeful relief. “Yes, sir, if I don’t carry out just that agreement, you can take your security to old Saxton.”
“Oh, no,” said the stranger in a deep decisive voice, “I’ll take it to Martin Hardy.”
Ben was startled at this last declaration. Shallock uttered a gasp and put out his hands pleadingly.
“Don’t do that,” he begged in a husky tone, “say, don’t do that!”
“You’ve heard me,” replied the stranger, turning his back on Shallock and crossing the street. “I’ll do just what I say if you don’t raise that money!”
“What does this mean?” exclaimed Ben in an excited tone. “Here’s some dark plotting, and I’m going to get at the bottom of this.”
He ran along the inside at the hedge, passed through it at a break, and observed the stranger just turning the corner of the side street.
As Ben in turn reached it, the crack of the whip rang out. A sharp “Get up!” sent a mettled horse attached to a light gig carrying the stranger away in a flash. Our hero outdistanced, reluctantly admitted to himself that for the present at least he had lost the clew of a big mystery.