"I will see."
The girl came down directly, with the information that Mr. Stanley had gone out.
"That is queer," said Frank. "He told me to come right back. He said he had a headache, too, and did not want to go out."
As he spoke, his glance rested on a man who was lounging at the corner. This man had black hair, and a full black beard. By chance, Frank's eye fell upon his right hand, and with a start he recognized a large ring with a sparkling diamond, real or imitation. This ring he had last seen on Mr. Stanley's hand. He crossed the street in a quiet, indifferent manner, and imparted his suspicions to the detective.
"Good!" said the latter; "you are a smart boy."
He approached the man alluded to, who, confident in his disguise, did not budge, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said, "Mr. Stanley, I believe."
"You are mistaken," said the man, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant way, with a foreign accent, "I am M. Lavalette. I do not know your M. Stanley."
"I am afraid you are forgetful, monsieur. I beg pardon, but do you wear a wig?" and with a quick movement he removed the stranger's hat, and, dislodging his black wig, displayed the rim of red hair.
"This is an outrage!" said the rogue, angrily; "I will have you arrested, monsieur."
"I will give you a chance, for here is an officer," said the detective.