“I—­I cannot go—­I have a sick wife—­I must get a doctor,” stammered Pat Malone.  “Let me go.  The boy is mistaken.”

“You’ll have to go with me.”

“But my sick wife?”

“You can send for your friends and they can take care of her.”

“I have no friends—­we are strangers in Philadelphia.  I don’t want to go.”

Pat Malone tried to move on, but the policeman and Joe detained him, and in the end he was marched off to the police station.  Here Joe told what he knew and Malone’s record was looked up in the Rogues’ Gallery.

“You’ve got the right man, that’s sure,” said the desk sergeant to our hero.  “Now where can you find this Mr. Maurice Vane?”

“I have his address at the hotel,” answered our hero.  “If I can go I’ll get it and send Mr. Vane a telegram.”

“Bring the address here and we’ll communicate with Mr. Vane.”

Our hero agreed, and inside of half an hour a message was sent to Maurice Vane, notifying him of the fact that Pat Malone had been caught.  Mr. Vane had gone to New York on business, but came back to Philadelphia the next day.

When he saw that he was caught Pat Malone broke down utterly and made a full confession, telling in detail how the plot against Maurice Vane had been carried out.

“It was not my plan,” said he.  “Gaff Caven got the mining shares and he arranged the whole thing.”

“Where did you get the shares—­steal them?” demanded Maurice Vane, sharply.

“No, we didn’t steal them.  We bought them from an old miner for fifty dollars.  The miner is dead now.”

“Can you prove this?”

“Yes.”

“Then do so.”

“Why?”

“I don’t care to answer that question.  But if you can prove to me that you and Caven came by those shares honestly I won’t prosecute you, Malone.”

“I will prove it!” was the quick answer, and that very afternoon Pat Malone proved beyond a doubt that the shares had belonged to himself and Gaff Caven when they sold them to Maurice Vane.

“That is all I want of you,” said Maurice Vane.  “I shan’t appear against you, Malone.”

“Then those shares must be valuable after all?” queried the swindler.

“Perhaps they are.  I am having them looked up.  I am glad of this opportunity of proving that they are now my absolute property.”

“If Caven and I sold you good stocks we ought to be kicked full of holes,” grumbled Malone.

“That was your lookout, not mine,” returned Maurice Vane.  “Mind, I don’t say the shares are valuable.  But they may be, and if so I shall be satisfied with my bargain.”

“Humph! where do I come in?”

“You don’t come in at all—­and you don’t deserve to.”

“If I didn’t swindle you, you can’t have me held for swindling.”

“I don’t intend to have you held.  You can go for all I care.”

Maurice Vane explained the situation to the police authorities and that evening Pat Malone was allowed to go.  He threatened to have somebody sued for false imprisonment but the police laughed at him.