“Alone?”

“Yes.  He was gone half an hour, came back looking wise and excited, joined his cronies again, and at midnight was helpless.  My man and I carried him upstairs to bed.”

“What became of the two men?”

“They sat watching the clock till closing time, one o’clock, went out, unhitched the horse, and drove off.”

“I wish I knew who they were,” murmured Bart.

“I suppose I might worry it out of Wacker, when he gets his head clear,” suggested Green.

“I don’t believe he would tell you the truth—­and he might suspect.”

“Suspect what?” demanded Green keenly.

“Never mind, Mr. Green.  Can I take a look into the room where they spent the evening?”

“Certainly—­go right in.”

Bart held his breath, nearly suffocated by the mixed liquor and tobacco taint in the close, disorderly looking apartment.

His eye passed over the stained table, the broken glasses and litter of cigar stubs.  Then he came nearer to the table.  One corner was covered with chalk marks.

They apparently represented the score of the games the trio had played.  There were three columns.

At the head of one was scrawled the name “Wacker,” at the second “Buck,” at the third “Hank.”

Bart wondered if he had better try to interview Lem Wacker.  He decided in the negative.

In the first place, Wacker would not be likely to talk with him—­if he did, he would be on his guard and prevaricate; and, lastly, as long as he was asleep he was out of mischief, and helpless to interfere with Bart.

The young express agent left the Sharp Corner without saying anything further to Silas Green.

He had his theory, and his plan.  His theory was that Lem Wacker, with a perfect knowledge of the express office situation, had “fixed” the night watchman’s lunch, and employed two accomplices to do the rest of the work.

When Wacker woke up, he would simply say he had sold his rig to two strangers, and, so far as the actual burglary was concerned, would be able to prove a conclusive alibi.

The men who had committed the deed had driven off with the wagon and trunk, and by this time were undoubtedly at a safe distance in hiding.

Bart went home, got his breakfast, told his mother a trunk had got lost and he might have to go down the road to look it up, returned to the express office, found Darry Haven and McCarthy on duty, gave them some routine directions, and left the place.

Darry Haven followed him outside with a rather serious face.

“Bart,” he said anxiously, “Mrs. Colonel Harrington drove down here a few minutes ago.”

“About the trunk, I suppose.”

“Yes, and she was wild over it.  Said you had got rid of the trunk to spite her, because she had had some trouble with your mother.”

“Nonsense!  Anything else?”

“If the trunk don’t show up to-day, she says she will have you arrested.”