“Here, none of that,” said the bailiff in a gruff tone.  “None of that, I say,” and taking Dan by the arm he marched him back to the office.

“You see, Mr. Moriarity, I told the truth,” said Mr. Pinkerton in a pleasant voice.

“Looks like it,” growled Dan.  “But I don’t see how the devil you did it.”

“Very easily done.  He gave himself up.”

“What’s that?” shouted Dan as he almost bounded from his chair.

“He gave himself up, I said,” repeated Mr. Pinkerton.

“Jim Cummings gave himself up,” said Dan slowly as if trying to grasp the idea.

“Exactly.  He saw we had him and that he couldn’t get away, so to make his sentence as light as possible he did the best thing he could do and surrendered.”

Almost dumbfounded by this surprise Dan sat speechless and stared blankly at the detective.

“Do you know, Mr. Moriarity,” Mr. Pinkerton continued, “you strike me as being remarkably clever.”

Arousing himself Dan answered in a savage tone: 

“What are you driving at now?”

“I mean that up to the time that Cummings surrendered himself we thought he was the principal man in the case, the prime mover and director of the whole affair, but now we find we are mistaken.  That is why I say you are clever.  You simply used him as a cat’s paw, and played hide and seek with our whole force, and a man that can do that as long as you did is remarkably clever,” and Mr. Pinkerton smiled admiringly at the man who sat before him.  Puzzled at the words, and trying to see beneath the surface, Dan said:  “Oh! come now, stop your chaffing, I won’t squeal, and you can’t make me.  What do you want me for anyway?”

Mr. Pinkerton’s face became stern, and dropping the tone of levity which he had employed, he opened the letter Sam had forged, and suddenly handing it to Dan, said: 

“We want to know if what Jim Cummings says there is true.”

Somewhat impressed by Mr. Pinkerton’s manner, Dan commenced to read the letter.

At first he hardly understood its purport, but slowly the realization of his friend’s treachery came over him, and springing to his feet he brought his fist down on his chair and shouted in angry tones: 

“It’s a damned lie!”

Without noticing the baliff or the detectives, he paced the floor with angry strides, his eyes flashing and the veins in his forehead swelling until they stood out like whip cords.

The baliff, at a sign from Mr. Pinkerton, stationed himself at the door, but too excited to notice the movement, Dan continued to walk to and fro like a caged lion.

“That is why he gave himself up, the coward—­the lying turn-tale!  The treacherous dog!  Swearing it off on me to save a few years of his miserable life out of jail.  See here!” stopping suddenly before Mr. Pinkerton, “That traitor made me swear I would never squeal.  All I got out of the whole swag was two thousand dollars, but even then, if he had done the square thing, I would have kept mum, though I were sent down to rock-pile.  But the man that would play that low, scaley trick on me is going to suffer for it.  What do you want to know?”