“Cut out that fol-de-rol, Piper. There’s no reason why I should tell you any family secrets, if we happen to have them. As you’ve just said, doubtless there are few families who do not have some minor secrets they choose to keep hidden; but, as a rule, such things concern no others than those personally interested. Again, let me repeat that you are trying to make something out of nothing, and it’s extremely ridiculous.”
“Perhaps so,” retorted Sleuth. “But tell me, did you ever hear of a man by the name of James Wilson?”
“Never. What has he to do with the matter?”
The visitor drew a folded newspaper from an inner pocket of his coat. “It’s my custom,” he said, “to take special note of the records of crime and criminals as contained in the press of the day. I never overlook anything of the sort. Here in this paper is the description of one James Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ but known among his pals as ‘Gentleman Jim.’ This man is described as twenty-six years of age, five feet, ten inches in height, and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds. While there are no distinguishing marks upon his person, he has blue eyes; a medium complexion; hair slightly curly; white, even teeth; a pleasant smile; an agreeable voice; and white, shapely hands, which show evidence of recent arduous labor. This labor was performed in prison, from which Jim Wilson has but lately been released. He is a confidence man and safe-breaker, and it seems that his prison experience has done little to cure him of his criminal proclivities, for it is suspected that since his release he has been concerned in certain unlawful operations. One week ago he was arrested in Harpersville, which is just over the state line, and placed in jail to await the arrival of officers who wanted him. But Mr. Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ alias ‘Gentleman Jim,’ is a slippery customer, and he didn’t remain in that insecure jail. Instead of doing so, he broke out of his cell, cracked the guard’s skull, and made good his escape. The guard is not expected to live, and the authorities have offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of the murderous scoundrel.”
“Well!” breathed Sage, who had listened with swiftly increasing interest. “Do you think this James Wilson and the stranger Hooker talked with this forenoon are one and the same?”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Sleuth.
CHAPTER V.
BY THE LIGHT FROM THE WINDOW.
“But that,” said Fred, “is practically a matter of supposition with you; you have no real proof.”
“Proof?” returned Piper reprovingly. “Why not? The circumstances are significant, and it’s only the bigoted person who denies the value of circumstantial evidence in criminal cases. The description of James Wilson applies perfectly to the mysterious stranger with whom Hooker conversed.”
“If you’ll think it over a bit, that description might apply to a great many persons. Wilson seems fortunate in having practically no personal characteristics by which he might readily be identified. It seems to me, Piper, that, casting aside your professed caution and acuteness, you have jumped at a conclusion. Simply because you happen to read about an ex-convict who has recently broken jail in a neighboring state, and the description of this convict, although in a way indefinite and unsatisfactory, apparently applies to a stranger in these parts, you immediately decide that the convict and the stranger are one and the same. I’m surprised at you, Sleuth.”