"Never mind, Mr. Green. Can I take a look into the room where they spent the evening?"
"Certainly—go right in."
Bart held his breath, nearly suffocated by the mixed liquor and tobacco taint in the close, disorderly looking apartment.
His eye passed over the stained table, the broken glasses and litter of cigar stubs. Then he came nearer to the table. One corner was covered with chalk marks.
They apparently represented the score of the games the trio had played. There were three columns.
At the head of one was scrawled the name "Wacker," at the second "Buck," at the third "Hank."
Bart wondered if he had better try to interview Lem Wacker. He decided in the negative.
In the first place, Wacker would not be likely to talk with him—if he did, he would be on his guard and prevaricate; and, lastly, as long as he was asleep he was out of mischief, and helpless to interfere with Bart.
The young express agent left the Sharp Corner without saying anything further to Silas Green.
He had his theory, and his plan. His theory was that Lem Wacker, with a perfect knowledge of the express office situation, had "fixed" the night watchman's lunch, and employed two accomplices to do the rest of the work.