The poor devil died while I was out
skirmishing, but not before he whispered in the chief's ear the name
of the man who did for him. The dirty snake! And the chief trusted him
as no crook ever was trusted before. He knew him for what he was, but
he thought he was loyal. And this is what he gets in return for saving
the dog's life in Buda Pesth three years ago. In the name of God,
Barnes, how did you happen to fall in with the villain?"
Barnes passed his hand over his brow, dazed beyond the power of
speech. His gaze rested on Putnam Jones. Suddenly something seemed to
have struck him between the eyes. He almost staggered under the
imaginary impact. Jones! Was Jones a party to this--He started
forward, an oath on his lips, prepared to leap upon the man and
throttle the truth out of him. As abruptly he checked himself. The
cunning that inspired the actions of every one of these people had
communicated itself to him. A false move now would ruin everything.
Putnam Jones would have to be handled with gloves, and gently at that.
"He--he represented himself as a book-agent," he mumbled, striving to
collect himself. "Jones knew him. Said he had been around here for
weeks. I--I--
"That's the man," said O'Dowd, scowling.
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