he was seeking. As the train slowed up for the Bridge stop, he swung off into the dark in time to catch sight of a figure swinging on from the same dark side. It was not Matthewson, and he was just turning away, when suddenly he changed his purpose and as the train moved off was again on the rear platform. He rode there to the next station, and then changed his quarters to the baggage car. He had identified his man; now he was after his destination.
This proved to be Waterville. A private carriage was waiting, and into it the man jumped, driving away rapidly. There was but one way to follow and keep the carriage in sight, and Trafford made a half-mile in quick time, clinging to the back-bar and resting his weight on his hands and arms. He dropped to the ground and crept away as the carriage turned into the driveway of an extensive country place, which the detective recognised as that of Henry Matthewson, a younger brother of Charles, and a man largely interested in the logging business.
"Humph," he said. "This time he comes part way and they bring him the news. Well; it ain't of
