“Now cast your eye down the column till you come ’pon a part about last Monday’s Agricultural Demonstration.”

“The devil!” swore ’Bias.  “You don’t mean to say—­”

“’Course I do.  Everything gets into the papers nowadays. . . .  You’ll find it spicy.”

’Bias found the paragraph and started to read, with knitted brows.  Its journalistic style held him puzzled for fully half a minute.  Then he ejaculated “Ha!” and snorted.  After another ten seconds he snorted again and exploded some bad words—­some very bad words indeed.

“Thought I’d warn you to be careful,” said Mr Rogers.  “You don’t take it amiss, I hope?  In a little place like this there’s eyes about all the time—­an’ tongues.”

“I’d like to find the joker who wrote it?” breathed ’Bias, the paper trembling between his hands.

“I can’t tell you who wrote it,” said the ship-chandler; “but I can give a pretty close guess who’s responsible for it:  and that’s Philp.”

“Philp?”

“Mind ye, I say ’tis but a guess.”

“I’ll Philp him!”

“Well, he’s no fav’rite o’ mine,” said Mr Rogers grinning.  “He’s too suspicious for me, and I hate a man to be suspicious. . . .  But he’s the man I suspect.”

“Where does he live?”

“Union Place—­two flights o’ steps below John Peter Nanjulian’s—­ left-hand side as you go up.  But you can’t have it out with him on suspicion only.”

“Can’t I?” said ’Bias grimly.  “I’ll ask him plain ‘yes’ or ‘no.’  If he says ‘yes,’ I’ll know what to do, and you may lay I’ll do it.”

“But if he says ’no’?”

“Then I’ll call him a liar,” promised ’Bias without a moment’s indecision.  “That’ll touch him up, I should hope. . . . Where did you say he lives?”

At this moment there came a knock at the door and Fancy entered with the tea-tray.

“If you’d really like a talk with him,” said Mr Rogers, blinking, “maybe you’d best let the child here take you to his house. . . .  Eh, missy?  Cap’n Hunken tells me as how he’d like to pay a call ’pon Mr Philp, up in Union Place.”

“Now?” asked Fancy.

“The sooner the better,” answered ’Bias, crushing ‘The Troy Herald’ between his hands.

Fancy’s hands, disencumbered of the tea-tray, began to twitch violently.  “Very well, master,” was all she said, however; and with that she left the room to fetch her hat and small cloak.

“I’d advise you to tackle Philp gently,” was Mr Rogers’s warning as soon as the pair were alone.  “Not that I’ve any likin’ for the man:  but the point is, you’ve no evidence.  He’ll tell you—­and, likely enough, with truth—­as he never act’ally wrote what’s printed.”

“You leave him to me,” answered ’Bias grimly, gulping his tea and preparing to sally forth.

“An’ you might remember to leave the child outside.  If a lady’s name is to be handled in the discussion, you understand. . . .  Besides which, witnesses are apt to be awk’ard.  Two’s the safe number when there’s a delicate point to be cleared up.”