“Yes. And you may consider yourself captured also!” snapped out the officer. “Jim, a pair of handcuffs here!”
“One moment!” interposed Mr. Howbridge, with a glance at Neale. “I represent this man, officer. I’ll supply bail for him—”
Mr. O’Neil laughed.
“Thank you,” he said. “Your offer is kind, and I appreciate it. But I shan’t need bail. I believe you received a letter telling you to make this raid, did you not?” he asked the constable.
“I did,” was the answer. “It was that letter which gave us the clue to the robbers. I’d like to meet the man who wrote it. He said he would give evidence against the rascals.”
“Who signed that letter?” asked Neale’s father.
“I have it here. I can show you,” offered Mr. Newcomb. “It was signed by a man named O’Neil,” he added as he produced the document. “He said he’d meet us here, but—”
“Well, he has met you. I’m O’Neil,” broke in the other. “And it was I who gave you the information.”
“Oh, Father!” cried Neale, “then you’re not one of the—”
“I’m not one of the thieves; though I admit my living here among them made it look so,” said Mr. O’Neil. “It is easily explained. One of the men made a fraudulent claim to part of a mine I own in Alaska, and I had to remain in his company until I could disprove his statements. This I have done. The matter is all cleared up, and I concluded it was time to hand the rascals over to the law. So I sent the letter to the authorities, and I’m glad it is all ended.”