“I took them for safe keeping.  Look at them for a moment.  I’ll strike a match behind this clump of trees.  Count them over, too.  It may be as well to have a witness for this.”

Raymond Case took the crisp bills and did as requested.

“Three thousand dollars,” he said.  “All brand new bills and each for a hundred dollars.”

“Exactly, and each on the same bank.”

“So they are.  That’s rather odd; isn’t it?”

“And all of the same serial number.”

“Gracious!  Mr. Adams—­”

“Wait.  Mr. Case, I am going to trust you even as you have trusted me. 
I want you to keep this a secret.”

“Certainly, but—­”

“The bills are counterfeit.”

CHAPTER VII

ONE OF THE PROFESSION

“Counterfeit bank bills!” gasped the young man.  “And in Mr. Langmore’s possession!  Taken from his safe!  What does it mean?”

“That remains to be found out.”

“This is—­is astounding!  You don’t suspect that he was in the habit—­I mean that he—­” Raymond Case did not know how to go on.

“It’s too early to form a conclusion.  But one thing is certain, the counterfeits were in his private safe, and from all accounts that safe had not been opened since his death.  Consequently he must have placed them there.”

“I don’t believe he dealt in counterfeits,” returned the young man bluntly.

“Facts are stubborn things to overcome.  Down in the town I learned that Mr. Langmore used to be a comparatively poor man.  All his wealth has come to him in the past six years.”

“He made his money out of his patents and out of various other schemes.”

“All of his wealth has come to him in the past six years,” pursued the detective.  “I happen to know something about these counterfeits, which the federal authorities have been trying to trace to their source.  The first of these bogus one hundred dollar bills appeared about six years ago, at a bank in Brooklyn.”

The heart of the young man sank within him, and as he spoke his lips began to quiver.

“Mr. Adams, are you going to give this news to the world at large—­to the United States authorities—­are you going to brand Margaret’s father as a counterfeiter, or a passer of queer money?  If you do that, even if you clear Margaret, you’ll break her heart.”

“I am going to do nothing at present but keep on investigating.  We have not yet reached the end of this string by any means.  Did I not tell you that another opened the safe?—­a fellow who has been acting queerly ever since I caught sight of him?  He is connected with this complicated affair, although how still remains to be seen.”

“Who was the man?”

“He gave his name to the policeman as Jack Watkins.”

“I never heard that name before.  How does he look?”