“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.”

“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you.  This man cannot be sent to prison.  Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony.  Well, sit down, and we’ll compound it.”

“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective.

“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.”  Geoffrey was deliberate and very polite.  “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you would appreciate, leave me no choice.  I have to save this man from jail.  If you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once.  Don’t draw your revolver, please.  I prefer to be the only person with a weapon in my hand.  He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, and I shall see that they are returned to their owners at any cost.  Will you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in Mexico?  Once there he can’t get away.  It is forty-five miles from a railway.  If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make up for the reward you didn’t get,—­five thousand down, and five thousand at the end of a year.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said the man.  “It sounds like a bribe.”

“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly.

“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man.

“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay.  “Can’t you see it lays you open to blackmail?”

“From you?” said Geoffrey.  “I had thought of that, but you can’t blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough to blackmail me, I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s hesitation.  I shall be in a position by that time to take care of the feelings of the other people concerned.”

“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this man.”

“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer.  And besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I was saying to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole thing known.  My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his will.”

“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective.  “If I accept, I’ll be on the square.”

“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, “and that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant.  He is a slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at all, if you give him the smallest loophole.”

The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot.  Then he said gravely: 

“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water?  I don’t see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car.  If he chooses to slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless maybe the sharks.”

“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably.  “Fortunately you can get a steamer in New York.”

It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they were presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future residence.