He looked at his watch.  “Well!  Work on that—­to your utmost, Sergeant.  Stay right with it until you get that evidence.  You’ll drop onto your man sooner or later, I know.  That train should be in soon, now.  I’ll have to get back.  The Commissioner’s due from Regina, sometime today, and I’ve got to be on hand.  Wire the finding of the inquest as soon as it’s over, and send in a full crime-report of everything!”

He glanced casually at the bruised faces of Yorke and Redmond.  “You men must have had quite a tussle with that fellow, Moran!” he remarked whimsically.  “You seem to have come off the best, Sergeant.  You’re not marked at all.”

“Some tussle all right, Sorr!” agreed that worthy evenly, his tongue in his cheek.  “Yu’ go git yu’re prisoner, Ridmond, an’ be ready whin that thrain comes in.  Come back on the next way-freight west, if there’s wan behfure th’ passenger.  We’ll need yez.”

Gully murmured some hospitable suggestion to Kilbride, and the two gentlemen strolled into the wrecked bar.  The train presently arrived and departed eastwards, bearing on it the inspector, Redmond, and his prisoner.

“Strange thing,” the officer had remarked musingly to Slavin, just prior to his departure, “I seem to know that man Gully’s face, but somehow I can’t place him.  He introduced himself to me on the train coming up.  Of course I’m familiar with his name, as the J.P. here, but I can’t recall ever meeting him before.”

Sometime later, Slavin and Yorke, who had just returned from the gruesome autopsy and were busily making arrangements for the afternoon’s inquest, heard a loud, cackling commotion out in the main street.  They immediately stepped outside the hotel to see what was the matter.

Advancing towards them, and puffing with exertion and importance, they beheld Nick Lee, haling along at arm’s length an unkempt individual whom they judged to be the hobo who had disturbed his peace of mind.  A small retinue of dirty urchins, jeering loafers, and barking dogs brought up the rear.  The village “Dogberry” drew nigh with his victim and halted, as empurpled as probably the elder Weller was, after ducking Mr. Stiggins in the horse-trough.

“Sarjint!” he panted triumphantly “I did clim up that ther ladder!  I did git thru’ th’ trap-door! . . . an’—­I did ketch that feller!” Suddenly his jaw dropped, and he wilted like a pricked bladder.  “Why! what’s up?” he queried with a crestfallen air, as he beheld Slavin’s angry, worried countenance.

“Damnation!” muttered the latter softly and savagely to Yorke.  “This means another thrip tu Calgary—­wid this ‘bo’—­an’ me not able tu shpare ye just now.  Fwhat wid all this other bizness I’d forgotten all ’bout him.  An’ we’d vagged him sooner Ridmond might have taken th’ tu av thim down tugither.  Da——.”  The oath died on his lips and he remained staring at the hobo as a sudden thought struck him.  His gaze flickered to Yorke’s face, and his subordinate nodded comprehensively.