"The very thing!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Frank Mansfield, fate is playing into our hands."
He passed over the paper to Frank, with one finger pressed upon the advertising columns.
"Read that," he said briefly, "and tell me what you think of it."
It was an advertisement under the head of "Clerks Wanted."
This was the way it read:
"Wanted—A young man for a responsible position in a broker's office. One familiar with a general stock brokerage business preferred. Apply to Elijah Callister, Room 62, —— Building, Broad street."
"What do you think of it?" asked the detective.
"It's Mr. Callister, certainly; but I don't see how it concerns me?"
"You don't? What we want in this little scheme of ours more than anything else is to set a watch on this man; to trace out his movements, to learn who his associates are, and what interest he has with bank burglars and thieves, such as the man in whose company you saw him at the Catherine Market yesterday morning."
"Do you propose to send one of your men to apply for the place?"