Chapter XII
A BOY WITH A MYSTERY
The boy who called himself Markham flushed scarlet at Frank's sudden words. His hand went with a quick, nervous movement to his upper lip. He looked dreadfully embarassed.
"Never mind," said Frank abruptly, trying to make it easy for the young fellow." You look better without it."
Markham had gained time now to cover his confusion. He swallowed a lump in his throat and smiled feebly.
"You see," he stammered somewhat, "that wasn't a real moustache—that one I've dropped."
"Oh, wasn't it?" said Frank.
"No. How I happened to have it was this," explained Markham, rather lamely, but with apparent truth. "See?" and he produced from a pocket two false moustaches and as many small goatees. "Fact is, I wanted to earn some money. I saw a peddler selling those things on a street corner. They went like hot cakes. I asked him
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