The man was disguised, but Ralph knew him at once. The marshal stepped forward and seized his arm.
“Mr. Bartlett,” he said sternly, “you are under arrest.”
“Oh, you want me? What—er—for?” stammered the plotter.
“Conspiracy in the recent railroad strike,” explained the official. “Pretty serious, too—not to mention that so-called accident you had on one of the cars, for which you wanted damages.”
With a scowl on his face Bartlett turned and confronted Ralph.
“Ah, so it’s you?” he growled.
“Yes,” returned the young fireman, coldly.
“This is some of your work!”
“If so, it is at the request of the man you robbed, Bartlett.”
“Eh?”