“That sharp-eyed and quick-witted young lady yonder,” said the prisoner, and bowed in my direction.
They all stared at me, and I felt that my cheeks were very crimson.
“Why, Cecil,” began mother, but the prisoner interrupted her.
“Understand, madam,” he said, “she didn’t know I was engaged in anything crooked; I don’t suppose she even suspected that these whiskers were false; but she had caught my dialect tripping in an unguarded moment, and she saw through me right away. I congratulate her,” he added. “She’s the cleverest I ever met.”
I had never liked Mr. Tunstall, but, I confess that, in this new incarnation, there was something fascinating about the man. He seemed so superior to circumstances and so indifferent to them. There he stood now, more unconcerned and self-possessed than anyone else in the room.
“I know we were dense,” said the detective, grimly; “but, anyway, we got you.”
“Who put you next?” asked the prisoner, curiously.
“Shorty,” replied the detective, smiling broadly. “We got him yesterday in New York, with the goods on, gave him the third degree and he peached last night.”
“The cur!” muttered the prisoner between his teeth, his face hard as iron. “I stayed here too long,” he added. “I’d have been away from here a month ago, but for this fool business,” and he nodded toward the packet of papers. “I was like a good many others—I thought maybe I could make enough to be honest!”
“Well, you’ll be honest for some years to come, Jim,” laughed the detective, “whether you want to or not; so perhaps it’s just as well—and Uncle Sam’ll breathe a lot easier! Put the cuffs on him, Bob,” he added, to his companion.