"Well, I'm not so sure about his going on another. Now then."
And the doctor applied himself to business, and I sat, wincing sometimes, under his hand, but thinking through it all of Carnes.
He was the comique of the force; a man who was either loved or hated by all who knew him. No one could be simply indifferent to Carnes. He was a well-educated man, although he habitually spoke with a brogue. But I knew Carnes was not an Irishman; although he professed to have "hailed from Erin," he could drop the accent at pleasure and assume any other with perfect ease, – a feat rather difficult of accomplishment by a genuine Irishman.
Nobody knew much about Carnes; he had no confidants, although he had his favorites, one of whom I chanced to be.
He was older than myself by ten years, but when the mood seized him, could be younger by twenty. He had been absent from the office for nearly a year, and I mentally resolved that, after making my report and attending to business, I would lose no time in seeing him.
Under the skilled hand of Dr. Denham my arm was soon dressed and made comfortable. It would be well in a fortnight, the good doctor assured me, and then as soon as I could, I withdrew from his presence and his customary fire of raillery and questions, and stopping only to refresh myself at a restaurant by the way, hastened on toward our office, where I was soon closeted with my Chief.
As usual, he made no comments, asked no questions, when I dawned upon him thus unexpectedly. He never made use of unnecessary words. He only turned out one or two of the force who were lounging there, waiting his pleasure to attend to less important business, saw that the doors were closed and the outer office properly attended, and then seating himself opposite me at the desk, said quietly:
"Now, Bathurst?"
I was well accustomed to this condensed way of doing things, and it suited me. In a concise manner matching his own, I put him in possession of the facts relating to the Groveland case, and then I made a discovery. After relating how I had received the anonymous letter I produced my pocket-book, where I supposed it to be, and found it missing! It was useless to search; the letter was not in my pocket-book, neither was it on my person.
"Well!" I said, when fully convinced that the letter was certainly not in my possession, "here's another complication. I've been robbed and – I know who did it!"
My companion made no comment, and I continued:
"The letter was of no vital importance; I will finish my story and then you will know what has become of it."
I told the rest; of my ride upon Mrs. Ballou's colt, of the pistol shot, my runaway steed, and my subsequent interview with Mrs. Ballou. How she had dressed my wound, how the circumstances had compelled me to confide in her, and how she had risen to the occasion, and driven me to the station at half-past three in the morning, and I finished by saying:
"Now it looks to me as if Mrs. Ballou had stolen my letter, and if so, one might take that fact and the one that Nellie Ewing was never seen after leaving her house, and count it as strong circumstantial evidence; but, that kind of evidence won't convince me that Mrs. Ballou is implicated in the crime or the mystery. When I told her of the printed letter, I saw her eyes gleam; and when she asked to see the document I read anxiety in her face. I am sure she took the letter, and I think she has a suspicion of some sort; but if she has the letter she will return it."
My chief made no comment on all that I had told him; he picked up a paper weight and laid it down again with great precision, then he put all my story "on the shelf," as we were wont to express it, by asking abruptly:
"What are you going to do next?"
The question did not surprise me. He was not in the habit of offering much advice to such operatives as he trusted with delicate cases, for he never trusted a man until he felt full confidence in his skill and integrity. But when we desired to consult with him, he entered into the study of the case with animation and zeal; and then, and then only, did he do a full share of the talking.
"Going to send them a 'dummy,' if we can find one with the grit to face the chances. They must suppose me entirely out of the business."
"Yes."
"I want an extraordinary dummy, too; a blusterer."
"Wait," interrupted my companion, beginning to smile, "I have got just the animal. When do you want to see him?"
"As soon as possible; I want him in the field at once."
"Very good. This fellow came here yesterday, and he's the greatest combination of fool and egotist I ever saw. Knows he was born for a detective and is ready to face a colony of desperadoes; there is no limit to his cheek and no end to his tongue. If you want a talkative fool he'll do."
"Well," I replied, "that's what I want, but the man must not be quite destitute of courage. I don't think that the party or parties will make another attack upon a fresh man, and yet they may; and this dummy must remain there quite alone until the rascals are convinced that he has no confederates. There is a keen brain at the bottom of this Groveland mischief. I mean to overreach it and all its confederates, for I believe there must be confederates; and, sir, I don't believe those girls have been murdered."
"No?"
"No. But I want our dummy to act on the supposition that they have been. This will ease the vigilance of the guilty parties, and when they are off their guard, our time will come. Where is Carnes?"
My companion was in full sympathy with my abrupt change of the subject, and he answered, readily:
"At his old rooms. Carnes had a bad cut, but he is getting along finely."
"Is he? The doctor gave me the idea that he was still in a doubtful condition."
"Stuff," giving a short laugh, "some of his scarey talk; he told me that Carnes would be about within two weeks. Carnes did some good work in the West."
"He is a splendid fellow; I must see him to-night. But about our dummy: when can you produce him?"
"Will to-morrow do? say ten o'clock."
"It must be later by an hour; the doctor takes me in hand at ten."
"Eleven, then. I will have him here, and you'll find him a jewel."
"Very good," I said, rising, and taking up my hat, "any message to send to Carnes? I shall see him to-night."
"Look here," turning upon me suddenly, "you are not to go to Carnes for any purpose but to see him. You must not talk to him much, nor let him talk; the doctor should have told you that. He is weak, and easily excited. It's bad enough to have two of my best men crippled and off at once; you must not retard his recovery. Carnes is as unruly as a ten-year old, now."
I laughed; I could see just how this whimsical comrade of mine would chafe under his temporary imprisonment.
"I won't upset the old fellow," I said, and took my leave.
CHAPTER V.
EN ROUTE FOR TRAFTON
Over the minor events of my story I will not linger, for although they cannot be omitted altogether, they are still so overshadowed by startling and thrilling after events that they may, with propriety, be narrated in brief.
I saw Carnes, and found that the Chief had not exaggerated, and that the doctor had.
Carnes was getting well very fast, but was chafing like a caged bear, if I may use so ancient an illustration.
We compared notes and sympathized with each other, and then we made some plans. Of course we were off duty for the present, and could be our own masters. Carnes had been operating in a western city, and I proposed to him a change. I told him of the conversation I had overheard that morning, and soon had him as much interested in Trafton as was myself. Then I said:
"Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise of freebooters and see what we think of it?"
"Begorra and that'll jist suit me case," cried Carnes, who was just then