“Is he your partner?”

“Yes.”

“Strange, very strange.  He said he bought you out last October.”

“You’ve been there, have you?”

“That is what he said.”

“He lies.”

“Or you do.”

“You wouldn’t dare say that outside of this room.”

“Don’t get excited, Mr. Wittrock.  We have had enough bantering.  You might as well make a clean breast of the whole affair, for we have a clear case against you.”

“I tell you I was at New Orleans at the time.”

“You were not.  Listen to me and I can prove you are a liar.”

Wittrock flushed, and he began to get angry, which was just what Mr. Pinkerton wanted, and glaring at his persecutor he folded his arms and settled defiantly back in his chair.  Mr. Pinkerton quietly continued: 

“A week before the robbery was committed you and a man named Haight took a room at Chestnut street.  On the twenty-third of October you sent a valise to Daniel Moriarity at Leavenworth, Kansas, and a letter instructing him to give its contents to Oscar Cook, of Kansas City.  A few days after you committed the robbery, and in a cave near Pacific, you, with Moriarity and Haight, divided the ill-gotten wealth.  You then rowed down the river to St. Louis, or near there, and from thence went to Kansas City.  You were often seen playing faro at the White Elephant, and one night you knocked one of my men senseless when he had arrested Moriarity, and took him to old Nance, the widow.  Still later, you, Cook and Moriarity took refuge at Swanson’s ranche in the Indian Territory, and after attempting to rob your host, which attempt was frustrated by my men, you came, in some roundabout way, to Chicago, where you put up at the Commercial Hotel, disguised by a false mustache.  Every evening you went to West Lake street, and last night you were arrested.  Now, Mr. Wittrock, what have you to say?”

“That’s a very pretty yarn; but as I don’t happen to be the man that did all that I don’t see how it concerns me.”

“Look at that and tell me what you have to say,” and Mr. Pinkerton laid before him the sworn deposition of Daniel Moriarity, in which all the facts that Mr. Pinkerton had been relating were set forth, Wittrock did not show a trace of feeling other than amusement, as he read the long and legally worded document, and passing it back to Mr. Pinkerton with a gesture of disdain, he said: 

“So on the strength of that cock-and-bull story you mean to hold me for that robbery?”

“Partly so.”

“There isn’t a word of truth in it.  That man, Moriarity, is a noted liar.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Pinkerton, quickly, “you know Moriarity?”

“That is—­I mean—­yes, I sort of know him,” stammered Wittrock, in confusion; “I have heard of him.”

“You are in desperate straits, Mr. Wittrock,” said the detective.  “In such desperate straits that you are doing the worst possible thing—­ denying all that is proved true.  We have you safe and secure, and enough evidence against you to send you to Jefferson City for a long term of years.  You can lighten your sentence by one thing.”