The little fellow had done splendid work, and, incidentally, so had Crackers.
Jack related to Nick a long story, which, stripped of its details, was as follows:
No one of the gang had the slightest suspicion that Jack was not with them, heart and soul.
In company with a man named Rusty Owens, he had gone to Norwalk and to the very house where the banker was confined.
“Have you seen Mr. Field?” Nick asked, when the little fellow had concluded his narrative.
“No,” said Jack, “but Crackers had an interview with him, it seems.”
“Don’t joke; this is a serious matter.”
“I am serious.” Tambourine fished up a dirty piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to his friend. “I found that tied to Crackers’ collar this morning.”
Scribbled on the paper, with a lead pencil, were the words:
“I am confined in a house near Norwalk, known as Sophie’s; she is my son Wilbur’s wife. My life is in danger. To the person who gives this to a police officer I will pay ten thousand dollars.