Acting upon this suggestion the watchman thrust his hand into a breast-pocket of the coat and drew forth a note-book. He opened it.
"Here's something writ in it," he said; "but as I'm not quick at making out strange writing, maybe you'll read it, sir."
Taking the book from the man's hand, and glancing carelessly at its title-page, Billy Brackett uttered a cry of amazement. There, written in a clear boyish hand, was the inscription:
"Winn Caspar. His Book."
