Mershone bit his lip.  This fellow was not so simple, after all, boyish as he seemed.  And, worse than all, he had a suspicion the youngster was baiting him, and secretly laughing at his offers of bribery.

“They will take you off the job, now that I have discovered your identity,” he asserted, with malicious satisfaction.

“Oh, no,” answered Fogerty; “they won’t do that.  This little interview merely simplifies matters.  You see, sir, I’m an expert at disguises.  That’s my one great talent, as many will testify.  But you will notice that in undertaking this job I resorted to no disguise at all.  You see me as nature made me—­and ’t was a poor job, I’m thinking.”

“Why were you so careless?”

“It wasn’t carelessness; it was premeditated.  There’s not the slightest objection to your knowing me.  My only business is to keep you in sight, and I can do that exactly as well as Riordan as I could by disguising myself.”

Mershone had it on his tongue’s end to ask what they expected to discover by shadowing him, but decided it was as well not to open an avenue for the discussion of Miss Merrick’s disappearance.  So, finding he could not bribe the youthful detective or use him in any way to his advantage, he closed the interview by rising.

“I’m going to my room to write some letters,” said he, with a yawn.  “Would you like to read them before they are mailed?”

Again Fogerty laughed in his cheerful, boyish way.

“You’d make a fine detective yourself, Mr. Mershone,” he declared, “and I advise you to consider the occupation.  I’ve a notion it’s safer, and better pay, than your present line.”

Charlie scowled at the insinuation, but walked away without reply.  Fogerty eyed his retreating figure a moment, gave a slight shrug and resumed his newspaper.

Day followed day without further event, and gradually Mershone came to feel himself trapped.  Wherever he might go he found Fogerty on duty, unobtrusive, silent and watchful.  It was very evident that he was waiting for the young man to lead him to the secret hiding place of Louise Merrick.

In one way this constant surveillance was a distinct comfort to Charlie Mershone, for it assured him that the retreat of Louise was still undiscovered.  But he must find some way to get rid of his “shadow,” in order that he might proceed to carry out his plans concerning the girl.  During his enforced leisure he invented a dozen apparently clever schemes, only to abandon them again as unpractical.

One afternoon, while on a stroll, he chanced to meet the bruiser who had attacked Arthur Weldon at the Waldorf, and been liberally paid by Mershone for his excellent work.  He stopped the man, and glancing hastily around found that Fogerty was a block in the rear.

“Listen,” he said; “I want your assistance, and if you’re quick and sure there is a pot of money, waiting for you.”