“On the level, Boss, I don’t know,” he whined.

“Get up!” commanded the chief.  Haney struggled to his feet and dropped into his chair.  “What does he look like—­this man who gave them to you?  Where did you meet him? Why did he give them to you?”

“Now, Boss, I’m goin’ to give you the straight goods,” Haney pleaded.  “Don’t hit me any more an’ I’ll tell you all I know about it.”

The chief sat down again with scowling face.  Haney drew a long breath of relief.

“He’s a little, skinny feller, Boss,” the prisoner went on to explain, the while he thoughtfully caressed his jaw.  “I meets him out here in a little town called Willow Creek, me havin’ swung off a freight there to git somethin’ to eat.  He’s just got a couple of handouts an’ he passes one to me, an’ we gits to talkin’.  He gits to tellin’ me somethin’ about a nutty old gazebo who lives in the next town, which he had just left.  This old bazoo, he says, has a hatful o’ diamonds up there, but they ain’t polished or nothin’ an’ he’s there by hisself, an’ is old an’ simple, an’ it’s findin’ money, he says, to go over an’ take ’em away from him.  He reckoned there must ‘a’ been a thousan’ dollars’ worth altogether.

“Well, he puts the proposition to me,” Haney continued circumstantially, “an’ I falls for it.  We’re to go over, an’ I’m to pipe it all off to see it’s all right, then I’m to sort o’ hang aroun’ an’ keep watch while he goes in an’ gives the old nut a gentle tap on the coco, an’ cops the sparks.  That’s what we done.  I goes up an’ takes a few looks aroun’, then I whistles an’ he appears from the back, an’ goes up to the kitchen for a handout.  The old guy opens the door, an’ he goes in.  About a minute later he comes out an’ gives me a handful o’ little rocks—­them I had—­an’ we go away.  He catches a freight goin’ west, an’ I swings one for Jersey City.”

“When was this?” demanded Chief Arkwright.

“What’s to-day?” asked Haney in turn.

“This is Sunday morning.”

“Well, it was yesterday mornin’ sometime, Saturday.  When I gits to Jersey I takes one o’ the little rocks an’ goes into a place an’ shows it to the bar-keep.  He gives me a lot o’ booze for it, an’ I guess I gits considerable lit up, an’ he also gives me some money to pay ferry fare, an’ the next thing I knows I’m nabbed over in the hock-shop.  I guess I was lit up good, ’cause if I’d ‘a’ been right I wouldn’t ‘a’ went to the hock-shop an’ got pinched.”

He glanced around at the five other men in the room, and he read belief in each face, whereupon he drew a breath of relief.

“What town was it?” asked the chief.

“Little place named Coaldale.”

“Coaldale,” the chief repeated thoughtfully.  “Where is that?”

“About forty or fifty miles out’n Jersey” said Haney.

“I know the place,” remarked Mr. Birnes.

“You are sure, Haney?” said the chief after a pause.  “You are sure you don’t know this other man’s name?”