"As I said at the start," quoted Garrick, turning to me, "we might
get a conviction merely on these cartridges. Anyhow, our man has
escaped from here. You can be sure that he won't come back--
perhaps never--certainly not at least for a long time, until he
figures that this thing has completely blown over."

"I'm going to keep my eye on the place, just the same," stoutly
insisted Dillon.

"Of course, by all means," reiterated Garrick. "The fact is, I
expect our next important clew will come from this place. The only
thing I want you to be careful of, Dillon, is not to be hasty and
make an arrest."

"Not make an arrest?" queried Dillon, who still felt the fumes in
his throat, and evidently longed to make someone pay the price--at
least by giving him the satisfaction of conducting a "third
degree" down at headquarters.

"No. You won't get the right man, and you may lose one who points
straight at him. Take my advice. Watch the place. There's more to
be gained by going at it cautiously. These people understand the
old hammer-and-tongs game."

Just then the smaller outside door grated on its rusty hinges. We
sprang to our feet, startled. Dillon leaped forward. Stupefying
guns had no taming effect on his nationality.

"Well, commish, is that the way you greet an old friend?" laughed
McBirney, as a threatened strangle-hold was narrowly averted and