“How about you, Wagg?” Vaniman demanded, resolved on clearing the matter up once for all.

But the lethargic Mr. Wagg was manifestly unable to turn his slow wits on the single track of the mind and start them off in the opposite direction.

“No matter about him now,” said the short man.  “Give his mind time.  A toadstool grows fast after it gets started.”

This meek surrender helped Vaniman to regain his poise.  “If you’re willing to take the truth from me, men, I’ll meet you halfway.  You have been frank and open with me.  Men who pretend to be better than you, they have lied to me and about me.  That’s why I was sent to state prison.”

“Tom and I couldn’t do business like we do if we lied to folks of our kind.  Didn’t we cash in our word to the trusty?  Being in the hole, as you are right now, you’ll excuse me for saying that we consider you one of our kind.”

“Thank you,” returned the young man, accepting that statement at face value.

The short man lighted a cigarette and pondered for a few moments.  “You didn’t take the money.  Tom and I believe what you say.  Wagg will catch up with the procession later.  All right, Vaniman!  But seeing how anxious you were to get out and up here, it’s likely that you have a pretty good idea as to who did take the money.  If you need any help in squaring yourself, I’ll call your attention to the fact that here are a couple of gents who have a little spare time on their hands.”

Vaniman was then in no mood to balance the rights and the wrongs of the case.  “I have started in on the basis of the whole truth, and I’m coming through, men.  I’m following your lead.  I was framed in that bank matter.  There was a man who had the opportunity to exchange junk for that gold.  He made that opportunity for himself by working on my good nature.  The man is Tasper Britt, who was the president of that bank.  He took the money.  He knows where it is.”

“Do you think he is the only one who knows?”

“Naturally, he wouldn’t be passing the word around.”

“You’re a bank man—­you had the run of the premises—­you had a chance to know the general style of his ways!  What do you guess he did with it?”

“I’m sticking to the truth—­and what I actually know.  I’m not guessing.”

“Not even when you say he took the money?”

“I didn’t see him take it.  But he had a private entrance to the vault.  Everybody was so determined to plaster the guilt on to me that no move was made against Britt on account of that back door of his.  I was railroaded by perjurers—­and Britt was the captain of ’em.”

“There’s a corner on ’most everything these days, but it’s really too bad for a man like Britt to have a corner on so much valuable knowledge,” sighed the short man.

And the tall man sighed and agreed.

Mr. Wagg was catching up.  With the appearance of a man who had been running and was out of breath he panted, “What’s—­what’s gong to be done about it?”