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“A first cousin,” he replied.

“Ah! I am somewhat acquainted in Harrisburg. What name, pray?”

“Miles Sartain,” answered Mr. Wilson, with composure.

“The name is not familiar. I thought I might have known him,” said the officer carelessly.

“I will drop in myself to-morrow, and look round,” he continued. “You may not know me, but don’t be surprised if a stranger makes himself at home. I will see the store-keeper this afternoon, and will set the police authorities to work to try and trace these missing goods.”

He bowed himself out of the office, leaving Mr. Wilson and his employer in busy conversation.

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Meanwhile Willful Will, as the officer had called him, was on his way to Mr. Leonard’s country-seat. He bore a note addressed to a Miss Jennie Arlington, a resident of the merchant’s house, which he was directed to deliver into her own hands without delay, and wait for any return message.

The mansion was a broad-fronted, brown-stone edifice, richly ornamented, and surrounded with beautifully-kept grounds, in which now a host of flowers were in bloom.