“Then you know that—Charlie is innocent? You know now how wrong you were? You know that I have been right all the way through, and that you have been wrong? Tell me! Tell me!” she cried.
Stanley Fyles shook his head.
“I’m sorry. The man had the grace to refuse me the leader’s identity. I only got their plan—but it’s more than enough.”
Kate breathed a sigh as of regret.
“That’s too bad,” she cried. “If he’d only told you that, it might—it might have cleared up everything. We should have had no more of this wretched suspicion of an innocent man. It might have altered your whole plan of campaign. As it is——”
“It leaves me more than ever convinced I am on a red-hot scent which must now inevitably lead me to success.”
For a few moments Kate looked into the man’s face as though waiting for him to continue. Then, at last, she smiled, and the man thought he had never beheld so alluring a picture of feminine persuasion.
“Am I to—know any more?” she pleaded.
The appeal became irresistible.
“There can be no harm in telling you,” he said. “You gave me the first help. It is to you I shall largely owe my success. Yes, you may as well know, and I know I can rely on your discretion. You were able to tell me of the coming of the liquor, but you could not tell me exactly how it was coming. The man could tell me that—and did. It is coming in down the river in a small boat. One man will bring it—the man who runs the gang. While this is being done a load of hay, accompanied by the whole gang, will come into the town as a blind. It is obvious to me they will come in on the run, hoping to draw us. Then, when caught, they rely on our search of the wagon to delay us—while the boat slips through. It’s pretty smart, and,” he added ruefully, “would probably have been successful—had I not been warned. Now it is different. Our first attention will be that boat.”