"Why, Patsy?"
"Because, with the stuff in my pocket, I was able to make good at a critical time. With the bones you gave me I made change for a big, green fellow. You see, it was this way"—hurrying on before Nick could interrupt—"I was playing bootblack this morning on the sidewalk in front of Lafayette Square, when a nobby sport with a dark face and a black mustache walks out of the White House grounds and crosses over to me. 'Shine?' says I. 'Sure.' he chirps, and I goes ahead and does my work on his patent leathers. When I gets through the top-lofty guinea flips a century rag in my face. Thought he'd faze me, maybe. But he didn't. I fazed him. I changed the bill, though it reduced me to cases."
"Well?" looking, at Patsy quizzically.
"I have the numbers of those Reesey-Leonard notes in my block, Mr. Carter," said Patsy, with an air of triumph, "and this note of mine belonged to that batch."
A variety of emotions were exhibited in Nick Carter's face during the moment that followed the young detective's statement. Joy was succeeded by disappointment, hope took disappointment's place, anxiety at last shadowed all.
"When did you make the discovery?" he asked, concealing his nervousness.
"The minute he plunked down the bill."
"Good, good. And when you had made the change, what did you do?"
Patsy regarded his superior in pained surprise. "Do? Why, what any detective with a spoonful of sense would have done. I shadowed the piker, Mr. Carter."
Nick's strong face became a sunbeam in a moment. "Of course, you did, Patsy. I might have known that without asking. Well, and did you hole him?"