him finally that his whereabouts were unknown, but how long they would remain so was of course a question.  It was useless to attempt further concealment.  In the first place, he lacked means of moving, nor could he conceal his identity under an assumed name while he remained in Panama, for he had already advertised himself too well for that.  Besides, the idea of hiding did not appeal to him.  He decided to face it out, therefore, hoping sometime to get to the bottom of the affair.  If he were arrested meanwhile, he would have to locate Ringold or Higgins, or some of the others, and prove that he had not run away from punishment.  It would be difficult to verify the extravagant story of his kidnapping, of course, but—­there was nothing else to do.  He rose quickly and entered the hotel, where he bought all the latest New York papers.  It was not long before he found the thing he was seeking.  There it was, a story headed: 

     Saloon-keeper to lose license

     Owner of notorious Austrian village in trouble

There followed an account of Mr. Padden’s efforts to disprove his connection with an assault upon the person of a detective named Williams, who had come from St. Louis; but nowhere was there a word about the present condition of the plain-clothes man, nor the slightest hint toward explaining the conduct of the mysterious Jefferson Locke for whom he had been searching.  Who the devil was Locke, anyhow?  The article did not even state the charge upon which he was to be arrested.  In another paper Kirk found something that relieved his mind a bit:  evidently Williams had not died prior to the time of going to press, although he was reported in a critical condition.  Kirk was interested to read that the police had a clew to the identity of the criminals and were confident of soon rounding them up.  What mystified him most was the lack of detail.  Evidently much had been printed previously, but he had no means of ascertaining what it was.

He spent an hour in serious thought, perhaps the first full hour he had ever passed so profitably.  At the end of that time he had arrived at little save a vague feeling of offence toward the father who had been so ready to condemn him.  In one way he did not blame the old gentleman for refusing aid.  This episode was the culmination of a long series of reckless exploits.  Mr. Anthony had argued, threatened, even implored with tears in his eyes, all to no purpose.  Just the same, it hurt to have one’s father so willing to believe the worst.  The two had never understood each other; they did not understand each other now.  And they might have been such good pals!  Darwin K. did not believe in miracles—­Well, perhaps Kirk was hopelessly bad.  The young man did not care much, one way or the other; but he shut his teeth grimly and wagered he could make good if he really chose to try.  He half decided to make the experiment just to show what he could do, but he was at a loss where to begin.  Anybody could be successful who really wanted to—­ every book said that; the hard part was to get started.