“Why do you suspect the lord to be Philip Rutley?” inquired the detective.
“Because they were partners in business, and inseparable chums socially,” replied Sam. “And where one was to be found, the other was not far away.”
“You say he got ten thousand dollars from the bank on your uncle’s indorsement?” inquired the detective.
“Yes,” replied Sam, “and tomorrow afternoon he is to be uncle’s guest at Rosemont.”
“Well, tonight my lord will attempt to leave the city, but he will find it impracticable,” remarked the detective, dryly. “I desire you to keep strictly mum on this matter for twenty-four hours, and I promise you positive identification of his lordship.”
Later, Detective Simms, smoking a cigar, sauntered carelessly into the “sweatbox,” where Jack Shore was still confined, and dumb as a stone statue on the question of kidnapping.
After silently looking at Jack for a time, he said with a smile: “If you had been shrewd you would not be here. You were sold.”
“Then I am either a knave or a fool?” interrogated Jack, carelessly.
“To be frank,” laughed Simms, “you are both. A knave for trusting Rutley, and a fool for doing his dirty work. I suppose you will think it is a lie when I say he ‘tipped’ us to the cabin for the ten thousand dollars reward offered by Mr. Thorpe for recovery of the child, and a promise of immunity from imprisonment.”
“Who is Rutley?” nonchalantly asked Jack.