“Or his ghost,” added Nick. “You thought I was dead.”
Elmer saw that it would be absurd to deny his identity any longer, and he removed the beard that disguised his features.
“I suppose I am good for twenty years?” he said, making a sickly attempt to smile.
“Not quite,” replied Nick; “they hang murderers in this State.”
“Murder!” ejaculated the prisoner. “I do not understand.”
“How about shooting Wilbur Field night before last? If you had but a white robe and a golden harp you might pose as an angel.”
“There is no hope for me,” muttered Greer. “But tell me, how in the name of all things infernal have you learned all this?”
“That you shall never know,” answered Nick; “but I can inform you of one thing, and that is, nothing that you have done since carrying off the banker has escaped me. I charge you with murder, and I have the proof to convict you.”
“I have money—heaps of money.”
“You lie, but if you were to make me a millionaire if I would unlock these handcuffs, they would not be unlocked until you reached a prison cell.”