It took but a few moments for Mr. Damsel to reach Room 84, and after introducing Fotheringham to the detective, left him there.

Fotheringham wore a worried and hunted look.  The black rings under his eyes told of loss of sleep, and his whole demeanor was that of a discouraged person.  Still he bore the keen scrutiny of the detective without flinching, and looking him squarely in the eye, said: 

“Mr. Pinkerton, don’t ask me to repeat my story again.  I have told it time after time.  I have been cross-questioned, and turned and twisted until I almost believe I committed the robbery myself, tied my own hands and feet, put the gag in my own mouth, and hid the money some place.”

Mr. Pinkerton did not answer him, but gazing at him with those sharp, far-seeing eyes, which had ferreted out so many crimes, and had made so many criminals tremble, took in every detail of Fotheringham’s features, as if reading his very soul.  Fotheringham leaned back, closed his eyes wearily, as if it were a matter of the smallest consequence what might occur, and remained in that position until Mr. Pinkerton spoke.

“Mr. Fotheringham, I don’t believe you had anything to do with the robbery, except being robbed.”

“Thank God for those words, Mr. Pinkerton,” exclaimed the messenger in broken tones, the tears welling to his eyes.  “That’s the first bit of comfort I’ve had since the dastardly villain first knocked me down.”

“Can you not give me some peculiarity which you noticed about this Cummings?  How did he talk?”

“Slowly, with a very pleasant voice.”

“Did he have any marks about him—­any scars?”

Fotheringham sat in deep thought for a while.

“He had a triangular gold filling on one of his front teeth, and he had a way of hanging his head a little to one side, as if he were deaf, but I did not see any scars, excepting a bit of court-plaster on one of the fingers of his right hand.”

“Was he disguised at all?”

“Not a bit, at least I could see no disguise on him.”

“How did he walk?”

“Very erect, and, yes, I noticed he limped a little, as if he had a sore foot.”

“I see by this report,” taking up the papers Mr. Damsel had left, “that you have given a very close and full description of his appearance, but that amounts to little.  Disguises are easy, and the mere changing of clothing will effect a great difference.”

“I am positive, from his features, that he was a hard drinker.  He had been drinking before he came to the car, as I smelled it on his breath.”

“Well, Mr. Fotheringham, I will not detain you any longer.  If you are innocent, you know you have nothing to fear.”

“Except the disgrace of being arrested.”

“Possibly,” said Mr. Pinkerton, shortly, and bowing his visitor out, he pondered long and deeply over the case; but he felt he was groping in the dark, for the robber had apparently left no trace behind him.  He had appeared on the scene, done his work, and the dark shadows of the night had swallowed him up, and Mr. Pinkerton, for the time, was completely baffled.