Rogers, sitting on the edge of his bunk, handcuffed and leg-ironed, gazed
sullenly at the detective.

'Well,' he said, 'an' now you've got me, what's the charge?'

'A trifle of gold-stealing,' replied Downy, 'and this,' indicating
Casey's bleeding head. 'To say nothing of the murder of your accomplice.'

Rogers blanched and glared at the detective, his face contorted and his
eyes big with terror.

'Shine,' he murmured, 'd'ye mean Shine? It's a lie; he's not dead!'

Harry Hardy, who had just come upon the scene and was standing in the
doorway, cried out at this.

'Great God!' he said. 'Then it was Ephraim Shine after all!'

'Pooh!'' cried Rogers, 'it was a trick to trap me into givin' his name.
You needn't 'a' troubled yerself. I don't want to shield him--damn him!'

'Do you know where this Shine's to be got at?' asked Downy, appealing to
Harry, who had been working in concert with the detective ever since his
appearance in Waddy.

'Yes,' was the reply. 'I know his house. He'll be easily taken.'

'Then go with the sergeant. Take Casey's horse. It'll be with the other.
Here,' he threw Harry a revolver. 'Case of need, you know, but no
shooting if it can be avoided.'