“As I said before, you needn’t go into the ethics of the matter with me, Mr. Flemister,” he said.  “But in justice to Hallock, I think you ought to make a statement of some kind that I can show to these men who, very naturally, look to me for redress.  Will you do that?”

“I’ll think about it,” returned the mine-owner shortly; but Lidgerwood was not to be put off so easily.

“You must think of it to some good purpose,” he insisted.  “If you don’t, I shall be obliged to put my own construction upon your failure to do so, and to act accordingly.”

Flemister’s smile showed his teeth.

“You’re not threatening me, are you, Mr. Lidgerwood?”

“Oh, no; there is no occasion for threats.  But if you don’t make me that statement, fully exonerating Hallock, I shall feel at liberty to make one of my own, embodying what you have just told me.  And if I am compelled to do this, you must not blame me if I am not able to place the matter in the most favorable light for you.”

This time the visitor’s smile was a mere baring of the teeth.

“Is it worth your while to make it a personal quarrel with me, Mr. Lidgerwood?” he asked, with a thinly veiled menace in his tone.

“I am not looking for quarrelsome occasions with you or with any one,” was the placable rejoinder.  “And I hope you are not going to force me to show you up.  Is there anything else?  If not, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me.  This is one of my many busy days.”

After Flemister had gone, Lidgerwood was almost sorry that he had not struck at once into the matter of the thieveries.  But as yet he had no proof upon which to base an open accusation.  One thing he did do, however, and that was to summon McCloskey and give instructions pointing to a bit of experimental observation with the mine-owner as the subject.

“He can’t get away from here before the evening train, and I should like to know where he goes and what be does with himself,” was the form the instructions took.  “When we find out who his accomplices are, I shall have something more to say to him.”

“I’ll have him tagged,” promised the trainmaster; and a few minutes later, when the Wire-Silver visitor sauntered up Mesa Avenue in quest of diversion wherewith to fill the hours of waiting for his train, a small man, red-haired, and with a mechanic’s cap pulled down over his eyes, kept even step with him from dive to dive.

Judson’s report, made to the trainmaster that evening after the westbound train had left, was short and concise.

“He went up and sat in Sammy’s game and didn’t come out until it was time to make a break for his train.  I didn’t see him talking to anybody after he left here.”  This was the wording of the report.

“You are sure of that, are you, John?” questioned McCloskey.

Judson hung his head.  “Maybe I ain’t as sure as I ought to be.  I saw him go into Sammy’s, and saw him come out again, and I know he didn’t stay in the bar-room.  I didn’t go in where they keep the tiger.  Sammy don’t love me any more since I held Bart Rufford up with an S-wrench, and I was afraid I might disturb the game if I went buttin’ in to make sure that Flemister was there.  But I guess there ain’t no doubt about it.”