A slowly dawning expression of keen shrewdness came over the other’s face, and for an instant he eyed Dick coolly and appraisingly.
“You’re no fool, are you?” he said at length, in a totally different voice. “I reckon you’ve got me straight this time.”
He hesitated for an instant.
“Reckon I’ll have to trust you,” he went on quickly. “I’m after the guys who cracked the Hartford bank. Now, the question is, are you going to help me or try to trip me up?”
Dick’s chin squared and his eyes narrowed as the thought of Archie flashed into his mind. It was incredible—impossible. He would not believe.
“Who are you after?” he asked at length.
“That feller McCormick,” returned the detective quickly. “He was seen around the bank just before the robbery. Him an’ his two pals took the train out in the morning. At Milton they separated. He come here with the swag, an’ the other two went on. My partner is following them.”
“What makes you think McCormick has the swag?” Dick asked, though his heart was cold within him.
“I don’t think; I know,” the man answered. “He brought it in a big bag, and last night he hid it under the hearth in the dining room. I heard him sneak downstairs, and I slipped through the kitchen and watched him. There ain’t no doubt about it.”
Dick did not speak. His heart was too full for words. What he had tried not to believe was true. All the time that he had been watching Mac through the crack in the door the detective had been on the lookout from the kitchen. In spite of all, he could not seem to think of Archie as a thief. How had he ever been roped into such a thing?