"It was Ronald Mason with you, disguised. We know that. You and he were down at Swamp Angel together, on a spree. We know that, too. And now, you black scoundrel, we want to know who that man was you murdered, blast you! We saw the box and body stolen at the swamp near Mr. Dalton's winter residence, and we know now that you and Mason were at the bottom of that mysterious piece of rascality. What does it all mean, confound you?"
Harry's excited voice brought a beautiful, stylishly-clad young girl down the stairs, and there was a look of surprise in her big, dark eyes.
"Sim Johnson," she cried, "what does this mean?"
"Oh, sabe me, Miss Lizzie, sabe me!" implored the frightened coon.
"Gentlemen——" she began.
"Pardon me, Miss Dalton," interrupted Old King Brady. "We are officers of the law. This man is mixed up in a suspicious case. We want him to confess his villainy. Don't interfere, please."
"But I protest!" cried the young lady in angry tones.
"It is useless. We must do our duty."
"Why, what has Sim done? Now I remember you. You were here a week ago."
"Been away several days with Mason, hasn't he?" asked Harry, with a nod.