though he gave the most minute and detailed account of the affair, the
detectives could find nothing to help them.

That Fotheringham "stood in" with the robber was the universal theory.
The story of the letter and order from Mr. Barrett was received with
derision and suspicion.

Mr. Damsel himself was almost confident that his employee had a hand in
the robbery. It was a long and anxious day, and as it wore along and no
new developments turned up, Mr. Damsel became more anxious and troubled:
$100,000 is a large sum and the Adams Express Company had a reputation
at stake. What was to be done?

Almost instantly the answer came: telegraph for Pinkerton.

The telegram was sent, and when William Pinkerton wired back that he
would come at once. Mr. Damsel felt his load of responsibility begin to
grow lighter, and he waited impatiently for the morning to come.

The next morning about 10 o'clock Mr. Damsel received a note, signed
"Pinkerton," requesting him to call at room 84 of the Southern Hotel. He
went at once. A pleasant-faced gentleman, with a heavy mustache and keen
eyes, greeted him, and Mr. Damsel was shaking hands with the famous
detective, on whose shoulders had fallen the mantle of his father, Allan
Pinkerton, probably the finest detective the world has ever seen.

Mr. Damsel had his stenographer's notes, which had been transcribed on
the type-writer, and Mr. Pinkerton carefully and slowly read every word.

"What sort of a man is this Fotheringham?"