“Ah! he was! So I thought. Comes to smoke a cigar, I suppose!”
She looked so uneasy that he went on casually: “Well, it 's very well; always keep in with the cloth. He is a fine preacher, I hear! Keeps quite up with the times—interested in the races in more senses than one.”
“Yes, sir; he preaches very well.”
“That is all. Well, your friend must have 'rec'nition.'”
The old woman withdrew.
The following day Graeme went down to a detective agency and left a memorandum. A few days later he received a message from the agency: “Yes, he is the same man. He frequents the pool-rooms a good deal. Came from Kentucky. He used to be known as 'Amos Brown.'”
IV
For some days Mr. Graeme took to coming home earlier than usual, and one evening he was rewarded. Just after his arrival little Ben came in, and, climbing up to his cigar box, took out several cigars, and silently withdrew. As soon as he had disappeared his father stepped to the telephone, and, calling up the detective agency, asked that an officer be sent around to his house immediately. A few minutes later the officer arrived, and after a few words with him Mr. Graeme stationed him at the back gate and strolled back toward the kitchen. As he softly approached the door he heard voices within-one of them his little boy's voice, the other the deep, unctuous tones of a negro man. The child was begging the latter to blow smoke-wreaths, and the man was bartering with him.
“Well, you must get me more cigars; remember what I told you—six wreaths for one cigar.”