"Where?"
"At—West Lake street."
"Will you swear to that?"
"Yes, I will; he runs a coalyard there. He and a man named Weaver. I had nothing to do with robbing the car. It was all done before I ran across Wittrock near Pacific, and he gave me $2,000 to keep my mouth shut and help plant the plunder."
"Do you know where it is planted?"
"Part of it, yes. Weaver and another fellow named Haight have some hid in Chicago. Some is hid in the graveyard near Leaven worth, and some of it behind Cook's cooper-shop."
"Has Fotheringham got any of it?"
"Fotheringham hadn't anything to do with it—any more'n you did—Wittrock knocked him down and he couldn't help himself."
"Mr. Moriarity, if all this is true, you will be benefited by the information you have given," then turning to the baliff, he said, "We are through now." Moriarity, still cursing Cummings, was led back to the cell, and the detectives left the jail for Chip's boarding-house.
"It's plain sailing now, boys," said Mr. Pinkerton; "this end has been
worked dry, and you must return to Chicago with me. Cummings, or rather
Wittrock, if Moriarity has spoken the truth, will certainly make for
Chicago, and you must be ready for him."