The latter had just concluded his labors as Bart entered.  Lem Wacker lay with his foot bandaged up, conscious, and in no intense pain, for the surgeon had given him some deadening medicine.

“He belongs at the hospital,” the surgeon advised Bart.  “That foot will have to come off.”

“As bad as that!” murmured Bart.

“Yes.  I will telephone for the ambulance when I leave here.”

“Very well,” acquiesced Bart.  “Can I speak with the patient?”

“If he will speak with you.  He’s an ugly, ungrateful mortal!”

Bart went over to the side of the prostrate man.

“Mr. Wacker,” he said, “I do not wish to trouble you in your present condition, but something has got to be understood before you leave this place.  You go to the hospital as a prisoner or as a patient, just as you elect.”

“Pile it on! pile it on!” growled Wacker.  “You’ve got the upper hand, and you’ll squeeze me, I suppose.  All the same, those who stand back of me will take care of me or I’ll explode a bomb that will shatter Pleasantville to pieces!”

Colonel Harrington shuddered at this palpable allusion to himself.

“And I’m going to sue the railroad company for my smashed foot.  What do you want?”

“This, Mr. Wacker,” pursued Bart quietly, “you have to-night committed a crime that means State’s prison for ten years if I make the complaint.”

“I’ll have a partner in it, all the same!” remarked Wacker grimly.

The colonel groaned.

“You were after a package that belongs to a friend of mine,” continued Bart.  “I want to know why, and I want to know what you have done with that person.”

“Don’t you torture me!” cried Wacker irritably—­“don’t you let him,” he blared out to the quacking magnate.  “I won’t say a word.  Let Harrington do as he pleases.  He’s the king bee!  Only, just this, Harrington, you take care of me or I’ll blow the whole business.”

“Yes, yes,” stammered the colonel in a mean, servile way, approaching the litter, “leave it all to me, Wacker.  Don’t raise a row, Stirling,” he pleaded piteously, “don’t have him arrested, I’ll foot the bill, I’ll square everything.  This matter must be hushed—­yes, yes, hushed up!” hoarsely groaned the military man.  “Oh, its dreadful, dreadful!”

Bart felt that he had matters in strong control, spoke a word to McCarthy and, when the ambulance came, allowed them to take Lem Wacker to the hospital.

Then he and Colonel Harrington were alone.  The latter was in a pitiable condition of fear and humiliation.

“See here, Stirling,” he said finally, “I’ll confess the truth.  I’ve done wrong.  There’s a paper in that package that would mean disgrace for me if it was made public.  I’ll own to that, but it’s over a dead and buried business, and it can do no good to make it public property now.  I warn you if it is, I will shoot myself through the head.”