"Once more I'll give you a chance to tell who you are," said Mr. Davidson as he whirled upon the fellow.
The captive remained dumb.
"See that!" exclaimed Mr. Davidson. "He won't say a word. Hasn't said a word since I got here. We've searched him. And, by George, he's got letters on him addressed to my nephew, Billy Kellogg! And letterheads with the name of 'Hastings & Hatch'! I tell you there's something bad here."
"You think—"
"That maybe it's—murder!"
Polly suppressed a little shriek, while the stout and speechless young man shook his head miserably.
"Yes—murder! Why not?" demanded Mr. Davidson. "He's probably done away with my nephew, taken his place in New York, and all that sort of thing. I'm wiring for more news now. The scoundrel—"
"But if that's the case," broke in Reggy Williams, "I don't see why he'd want to come up here."
"Perhaps to finish his bloody work—to kill me!"
The prisoner sagged into the arms of the butler.