Morton Parks asked himself this question as he sat down on a fallen tree to rest.
He had rubbed the dust of the road on his face and had considerably altered his whole appearance by tearing rents in his clothing and pulling the crown out of his hat.
He looked like a tramp, and it was in this character he hoped to escape the vigilance of the police who were now scouring the country for him.
“I would like to get back to New York,” he mused, “and yet I daren’t show up as Doc Helstone, and nobody knows Morton Parks.
“Stop! I had forgotten Gilmore and Geary, the high-power burglars. They know me in both characters. But they have left New York by this time. When I saw them last they were making arrangements for a big bank robbery in Chicago, and I remember they said they were going to bore into the vault with an electric drill.
“I laughed at the scheme, but I hadn’t any intention of joining them then. Why shouldn’t I get to Chicago and give Gilmore and Geary a hand? Yes, by jingo, that’s my plan.
“I’ll have to beg or steal my way there, but I ought to know how to do that.”
* * * * * * *
“Talk about nerve!”
“What is it now, Mr. Smith?”