“Fairly so. It is only five miles to Denville.”
They were soon on their way through the gathering darkness, for it was now fall, and the sun went down early.
“I only hope he stays at the hotel until we arrive,” murmured Mr. Roscoe. “I never was after such a slippery fellow as he is. Every time I thought I had him he was somewhere else.”
The last mile seemed the longest of all, and Dan thought some one must have pulled up the marking stone, and set it down about twice as far ahead as it ought to be. But at last they came in sight of the village of Denville, and a little later they arrived at the hotel.
“You had better let me go ahead,” suggested the detective. “I am used to this part of the game. If he saw you he might make a bolt to escape before I could prevent him.”
Accordingly, after leaving the horse and carriage under the hotel shed, Dan and Mr. Harrison remained in the shadow on the hotel porch, while Mr. Roscoe went inside. He came out in a few moments.
“Galt is in the barroom, playing cards,” he announced. “I am going in and arrest him. You had better stay at the front door, Mr. Harrison, and make a grab if he comes out that way. Dan, you go around back, and get one of the stablemen to help you, if he makes a bolt out that way. I will wait three minutes for you to get there, and place yourself.”
Dan hurried around to the rear, and enlisted the services of a stout Irish groom, briefly explaining what was about to take place.
Mr. Roscoe entered the barroom. At a table was Galt, dealing cards to a number of men. Among them was a rather poorly dressed individual, somewhat the worse for liquor.
No one paid any attention to the detective. Mr. Roscoe walked quietly up to the table and, looking at Galt said: