"How much?"

"Two thousand dollars."

"That is fine. We are doing better than we did."

"I'll try to get more next time."

"Do so by all means. The more we get the better off we shall be and the sooner we can retire. Number Four, what have you to report?"

"I haven't heard from Albany yet. I think I'll hear to-morrow."

"What have you to say, Number Five?"

"I met my man last night. He won't touch the stuff--says it is too risky."

"Humph! What does he expect? A fortune for nothing? What have you to say, Number Six?"

"I got a long letter from Denver. The man out there will take twenty thousand dollars' worth at fifteen per cent."

"Didn't you tell him our rate was twenty-five per cent.?"

"I did, but he won't bite at that figure. He says he will go elsewhere."

"Where can he go?"

"He didn't say, but he swears he can get the goods."

"Not as good as ours. However, let him have the stuff at fifteen per cent. for the present."

There was a pause. "Now, has anybody got anything to say?"

"I have," spoke up the man called Number Three. "I say we must be careful. That tragedy at the Langmore house has brought a lot of detectives to this vicinity."

"Yes, I know that. One of them came over to the farm," answered the leader, and now Adam Adams was sure he was Matlock Styles.

"Came to the farm? What did you say to him?"

"I put him off the track. He will never bother us again, to my way of thinking."

"That's sure?" asked another of the men.

"b.l.o.o.d.y sure."

"We must make certain--" began another of the number, when a noise outside of the door caused an interruption.

So interested had Adam Adams become in the conversation that he had not noticed the advance of two burly men upon him and he was not aware of their presence until one pounced on his back and made him a prisoner.

"What's the row out there?" came from within the room.

"A spy, boys! Open the door and help capture him!"

Instantly there was wild confusion. The door was flung open and seven men poured forth, each armed, and all wearing the white head coverings, such as has already been described.

It was a battle of one man against nine and the s.p.a.ce was so small that Adam Adams could not turn himself. He drew his pistol, but while one man held his wrist another wrenched the weapon from his grasp. Then the detective went down and was severely kicked and pummelled, until to resist further was out of the question.

"He ought to be killed!" cried one man.

"That's right, kill him!" put in several.

"No! no! not yet. We must question him first," said another.

The band surrounded Adam Adams and several pistols were leveled at his head as he arose.

"It's funny how the n.i.g.g.e.r got down here--" began one of the men.

"n.i.g.g.e.r?" broke in another. "He is no n.i.g.g.e.r. See how the black has rubbed off his face."

The men stepped closer and then one of them gave a start.

"It's the same man!" he cried excitedly. He turned to another. "I thought you said--"

"I did," was the agitated answer. "There's a bloomin' mystery here.

He couldn't get out! He was bound and the door was locked--I locked it myself."

"Go and make sure."

Matlock Styles, for it was he, ran from the room and was gone several minutes. When he came back he was more disturbed than ever.

"You are right, he is gone!" he gasped. "Can this be the same man?"

He made another examination of Adam Adams. "Yes, you are right. Well, he shall not get away again!" he added, significantly.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MARGARET

"Tom, I tell you the best you can do is to make a clean breast of it and get Uncle Adam to help you."

It was Letty Bernard who spoke and she addressed Tom Ostrello. The two were seated on a bench in the park, where they had gone to talk matters over without fear of interruption or of being overheard. The conversation had lasted over two hours, and in that time the girl had learned many of the young man's secrets, and in return had told him a few things which had astonished and disturbed him.

He was much downcast and with good reason. For the past month many things had gone wrong with him. The one bright spot had been Lefty's love for him, pure and strong, helping him to carry his burdens.

"That's an easy thing to say, Letty," he answered. "But it is not such an easy thing to do. Poor d.i.c.k is deep enough in the mud as it is, and it will not be to my credit to mention my connection with Matlock Styles."

"Yes, but Tom, you--you--Oh, how can I explain? Can't you trust me when I tell you that I am speaking for your own good? I--I know many things of which you are ignorant."

"Then why don't you tell me, Letty? Is it fair for you to keep silent?"