Neither man had anticipated this; neither had the slightest conception that any suspicion of this kind pointed at them.  The direct question was like the sudden explosion of a bomb.  What did Westcott know?  How had he discovered their participation in the affair?  The fact that Westcott unhesitatingly connected Matt Moore with the abduction was in itself alone sufficient evidence that he based his inquiry on actual knowledge.  Enright had totally lost power of speech, positive terror plainly depicted in his eyes, but Lacy belonged to another class of the genus homo.  He was a Western type, prepared to bluff to the end.  His first start of surprise ended in a sarcastic smile.

“You have rather got the better of me, Westcott,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, as though dismissing the subject.  “You refer to the New York newspaper woman?”

“I do—­Miss Stella Donovan.”

“I have not the pleasure of that lady’s acquaintance, but Timmons informed me this morning that she had taken the late train last night for the East—­isn’t that true, Enright?”

The lawyer managed to nod, but without venturing to remove his gaze from Westcott’s face.  The latter never moved, but his eyes seemed to harden.

“I have had quite enough of that, Lacy,” he said sternly, and the watchful saloon-keeper noted his fingers close more tightly on the butt of his revolver.  “This is no case for an alibi.  I know exactly what I am talking about, and—­I am going to have a direct answer, either from you or Enright.

“This is the situation:  I was the man listening at the window of your shack last night.  Moore may, or may not have recognised me, but, nevertheless, I was the man.  I was there long enough to overhear a large part of your conversation.  I know why you consented to close down La Rosita for the present; I know your connection with this gang of crooks from New York; I know that Fred Cavendish was not murdered, but is being held a prisoner somewhere, until Enright, here, can steal his money under some legal form.  I know you have claimed, and been promised, your share of the swag—­isn’t that true?”

“It’s very damn interesting anyway—­but not so easy to prove.  What next?”

“This:  Enright told you who Stella Donovan was, and what he suspected her object might be.  Force is the only method you know anything about, and no other means occurred to you whereby the girl could be quickly put out of the way.  This was resorted to last night after you returned to Haskell.  I do not pretend to know how it was accomplished, nor do I greatly care.  Through some lie, no doubt.  But, anyway, she was inveigled into leaving the hotel, seized by you and some of your gang, forced into a wagon, and driven off by Matt Moore.”

“You are a good dreamer.  Why not ask Timmons to show you the letter she left?”

“I have already seen it.  You thought you had the trail well covered.  That note was written not by Miss Donovan, but by the blonde in your outfit.  The whole trouble is that your abduction of Stella Donovan was witnessed from a back window of the hotel.”