“Well, I wasn’t quite such a blooming fool as that, you know. Such a thing wouldn’t have done you any good, and it would have done me a lot of harm. No; I just kept my mouth shut and told them that I’d carry out the program I’d enlisted for, and that I’d see them later about the rest of it.
“Now, I told you at the start that I didn’t come here to do any peaching on my pals, and so you must not expect me to tell you any names. I couldn’t do that. Nor will I tell you all of the plot; but I will tell you this much:
“The main guy behind the whole outfit is that same Paul Rogers, and it would appear that he is some pumpkins in his own country, wherever that may be—England or France; I don’t know which. He’s either got a big wad of shekels, or he knows where to find one when he needs it.
“Now, Paul Rogers has got a wife, whom you also sent up. She was to get out of the pen to-day, her time being greatly shortened for good behavior, and all that. Maybe you know who she is, Mr. Carter?”
“Yes; Isabel Benton, or Rogers; it is the same thing.”
“That’s right. Those are the only names I shall mention. You’ll have to guess the others as they appear.”
“I think I can do that.”
“All right. I hope you can. Please take notice that I am telling you only what I have picked up at the meetings of that mob, and I don’t vouch for the truth or the correctness of any of it. I never heard of any of the parties except yourself, until I trained with the crew I’m speaking about.”
“Go on. I understand.”
“Up the river somewhere, not as far as Sing-twice, I imagine, there is a beautiful country place where some people live whom you know. There is a very beautiful young lady in the family, and somehow the notion has gotten out among the crooks that you are very friendly with that family and especially with the daughter. This Isabel Benton and the daughter are as alike as two peas, it is said, and there was a plot to place Isabel in her place, once upon a time, which plot failed.”