At the words, a white-faced man in uniform arose from a chair into which he had plainly dropped exhausted.
"Oh, there you are!" and Grady glowered at him ferociously. "Now tell me what happened—and tell it quick!"
"Why, sir," stammered Kelly, "there wasn't anything happened. Only when we stopped out there at the curb and I got down and opened the door, there wasn't nobody in the wagon but Mr. Simmonds. I spoke to him and he didn't answer—and then I touched him and he kind of fell over—and then I rushed in here and 'phoned the station; but they said you'd already started for the bank; and then we went out and brought him in here—and that's all I know, sir."
"You didn't hear anything—no sound of a struggle?"
"Not a sound, sir; not a single sound."
"And you haven't any idea where the other man got out?"
"No, sir."
"Mr. Simmonds had a little valise with him—did you notice it?"
"Yes, sir; and I looked for it in the wagon, but it ain't there."
Grady turned away with a curse as four or five men ran in from the street—the men from headquarters, I told myself. I could hear him talking to them in sharp, low tones, and then they departed as suddenly as they had come. The reserves also hurried away, and I concluded that Grady was trying to throw a net about the territory in which the fugitive was probably concealed; but my interest in that manoeuvre was overshadowed, for the time being, by my anxiety for Simmonds. I picked up his right hand and looked at it; then I drew a deep breath of relief, for it was uninjured.