"We have got Darcy corralled here. Come at once.
Pat O'Leary."
"Just as well that we brought O'Leary along," remarked Carter to his deputy. "You stay on guard here till you hear from me."
In Chicago the sheriff found that his deputy had promptly arrested Darcy on O'Leary's identification, and had had the man locked up. But on visiting the jail, Carter was considerably in doubt if he had ever seen the prisoner before. The Darcy he remembered was smooth shaven, bronzed through exposure to the California sun, rough and rather desperate in appearance. This man wore a beard, was well dressed, rather pale from confinement in his office, and of sanctimonious countenance.
"But that's Darcy, all right," O'Leary assured him. "Same eyes, and same mole on his neck. Just read him that letter from Collins, Mr. Carter."
At the name of Collins the prisoner winced visibly. For some time he had realized that Collins might betray him; and he had thought seriously of ending that scoundrel's career.
Carter followed up the advantage quickly.
"I think this is Mr. Thorn of Union City?" he inquired politely.
"That's my name," said the man, "and I live in Union City, as I told the officer."
"I've just come from Union City," replied Carter quietly, "and happen to know that you are a respected citizen of that place. Don't suppose you ever heard of J. C. P. Collins of Nevada County, California?"