“It’s a delicate matter, Mr. Crow.  We must go about it carefully,” said Bonner severely.  “If Mr. Barnes is really interested in her, we can’t find it out by blundering; if he is not interested, we can’t afford to drag him into it.  It will require tact—­”

“Thunderation, don’t you suppose I know that?” exploded Anderson.  “Detectives are allers tackin’.  They got to, y’ see, ef they’re goin’ to foller half a dozen clews at oncet.  Gee whiz, Wick, leave this thing to me!  I’ll git at the bottom of it inside o’ no time.”

“Wait a few days, Mr. Crow,” argued Bonner, playing for time.  “Don’t hurry.  We’ve got all we can do now to take care of the fellows you and that young actor captured last night.”  The young man’s plan was to keep Anderson off the trail entirely and give the seemingly impossible clew into the possession of the New York bureau.

“I don’t know what I’d ‘a’ done ef it hadn’t been fer that young feller,” said the marshal.  “He was right smart help to me last night.”  Bonner, who knew the true story, suppressed a smile and loved the old man none the less for his mild deception.

They entered the “calaboose,” which now had all the looks and odours of a hospital.  A half-dozen doctors had made the four injured men as comfortable as possible.  They were stretched on mattresses in the jail dining-room, guarded by a curious horde of citizens.

“That’s Gregory!” whispered Anderson, as they neared the suffering group.  He pointed to the most distant cot.  “That’s jest the way he swore last night.  Lie must ‘a’ shaved in the automobile last night,” though Gregory had merely discarded the false whiskers he had worn for days.

“Wait!” exclaimed Bonner, stopping short beside the first cot.  He stooped and peered intently into the face of the wounded bandit.  “By George!”

“What’s up?”

“As I live, Mr. Crow, this fellow was one of the gang that abducted Rosalie Gray last winter.  I can swear to it.  Don’t you remember the one she tried to intercede for?  Briggs!  That’s it!  Briggs!”

The injured man slowly opened his eyes as the name was half shouted.  A sickly grin spread slowly over his pain-racked face.

“She tried to intercede fer me, did she?” he murmured weakly.  “She said she would.  She was square.”

“You were half decent to her,” said Bonner.  “How do you happen to be with this gang?  Another kidnaping scheme afloat?”

“No—­not that I know of.  Ain’t you the guy that fixed us?  Say, on the dead, I was goin’ to do the right thing by her that night.  I was duckin’ the gang when you slugged me.  Honest, mister, I was goin’ to put her friends next.  Say, I don’t know how bad I’m hurt, but if I ever git to trial, do what you can fer me, boss.  On the dead, I was her friend.”

Bonner saw pity in Anderson’s face and rudely dragged him away, although Bill’s plea was not addressed to the old marshal.