not afraid to face it. In irons? That is talk out of a dime-novel, Mr. Belmont."
The boy was unnerved and terribly perplexed; but he was more sure than ever that his enemy's scheme was hollow, even if he could not tell how far Belmont would support it.
Belmont was beginning to lose his temper because Philip so stood out against any thing like buncombe. His voice became suddenly so hoarse with passion that it was hard to believe that it came from the smooth-talking "Mr. Hilliard" of the express-train.
"You young rascal!" he exclaimed, above the sound of the fog-whistle, "what a fool you are making of yourself! One would think you actually were all that you have been pretending. Did Saxton commission you? How? When? Or did Marcy? Did you ever see Saxton? Do you know any thing about Saxton, except from this boy, or the hotel people? Have you so much as a single letter in your pocket to bear you out?"
This unlucky lack already had occurred to Philip. He had allowed his foe artfully to destroy the letter that indirectly might have
