Somewhat impressed by Mr. Pinkerton's manner, Dan commenced to read the letter.
At first he hardly understood its purport, but slowly the realization of his friend's treachery came over him, and springing to his feet he brought his fist down on his chair and shouted in angry tones:
"It's a damned lie!"
Without noticing the baliff or the detectives, he paced the floor with angry strides, his eyes flashing and the veins in his forehead swelling until they stood out like whip cords.
The baliff, at a sign from Mr. Pinkerton, stationed himself at the door, but too excited to notice the movement, Dan continued to walk to and fro like a caged lion.
"That is why he gave himself up, the coward—the lying turn-tale! The treacherous dog! Swearing it off on me to save a few years of his miserable life out of jail. See here!" stopping suddenly before Mr. Pinkerton, "That traitor made me swear I would never squeal. All I got out of the whole swag was two thousand dollars, but even then, if he had done the square thing, I would have kept mum, though I were sent down to rock-pile. But the man that would play that low, scaley trick on me is going to suffer for it. What do you want to know?"
"Now you are getting sensible," said Mr. Pinkerton. "We want to get the money. You know where it is? We know that last October a valise was sent to you from St. Louis to Leavenworth, which you were to give to Cook. We know that Cook received some of the stolen money. You had some, too. We have shadowed you all over Kansas City. You have been seen in the White Elephant playing faro, you were followed to the widow's fortune-telling room. We know where you lived, and have letters which you received from Jim Cummings.
"That isn't his name," broke in Dan.
Mr. Pinkerton stopped. He saw he had Dan up to the proper point, and where before he would have died rather than given a grain of information in connection with the case, he was now anxious to tell all he knew of it. Dan continued:
"Jim Cummings isn't his right name any more'n it's mine. His name is
Fred Wittrock, and he lives in Chicago."