That night the mining town of Fairmont was in an uproar. The streets were filled with excited men loudly discussing the great misfortune that had so strangely befallen the manager of the Oceanic Coal Company. It had happened that when William Walson returned to his buck-board, after his release by the sheriff, he found the horse lying dead by the roadside, and the buck-board a heap of ashes and broken irons. The charred remains of the satchel were found under the heap of rubbish, but it was impossible to determine whether the money had been carried away or destroyed by the fire. A jug that had lately contained liquor was found near by. All the circumstances indicated that the atrocious act was the malicious work of some one of the roving bands of drunken cutthroats. But the wonder of it all was the coincidence of the detective and the glaring boldness of the fiend "hobos."
The Atlantic Agency of New York, answered the sheriff's telegram immediately, confirming Hogarth's statement, and referring to the District Attorney of New York and the Chief of Police; These answered that the agency was all right and that its statement should be accepted as correct. Finally, as a last precaution, the sheriff and the president of the Oceanic Coal Company talked with the New York Police Chief by long-distance telephone. When they were at length assured that the detective's story was true, he was released and asked to go with the president before the board of directors. Here he went fully over the whole matter, explaining that the man, Red Lead Jim, was a desperate character, and for that reason he had been so severe and careful, not daring to risk the drive back to town in the buck-board. When asked his theory of the robbery, he said that the first impression of the people was undoubtedly correct, that the country was full of wandering gangs of desperate blacklegs, that the money being in paper was perhaps destroyed by the fire and not discovered at all by the thugs in their malicious and drunken deviltry.
The board of directors were not inclined to censure Hogarth, suggesting that after all he had perhaps saved the life of William Walson, as it was evident that the drunken "hobos" would have murdered him if he had been present when they chanced upon the horse and buck-board. Nevertheless, the detective seemed utterly prostrated over the great loss that had resulted from his unfortunate mistake, and left for New York on the first train.
III.
The following night two men stepped from the train at Jersey City and turned down towards the ferry. For a time they walked along in silence; suddenly the big one turned to his companion. "Parks," he said, "you are a lightning operator, my boy, you should play the mob in a Roman drama."
"I fixed the 'hobo' evidence all right, Hogarth," answered the other, "and I have not forgotten the trust fund," whereupon he winked at his big companion and tapped on the breast of his coat significantly.
The detective's face lighted up and then grew anxious. "Well," he said, lowering his voice, "are we going to try the other end of it?"
"Why not?" answered the little clerk. "Don't we need the trust fund doubled?"