in a confusion of thoughts, but he
extricated himself at last, saying:

"Thunder! I do remember that that fellow Fobes got wore leggins--yes,
and the cap! But--why, a lot of people wear 'em for fishing trips
and----"

"Yes, and chauffeurs wear 'em," put in Billy, heatedly. "I say, come on!
We'll have a look and we'll get something out of this, you bet!"

Whether Paul would or would not wager, however, he did not say. What he
did reply was: "Honest, Bill, I hope there's something to it,
but--anyhow, let's not be too sure!"

Chief Fobes, dozing the early afternoon away in his dingy office,
sleepily called to the boys, "Come in!"

They entered. Needless to say, also, the haste and earnestness in
Billy's manner fully awakened the officer of the law rather more
abruptly than often happened.

"We want to find out about a fellow you arrested Saturday evening. Wore
a cap and high boots or leggins," spoke young Mr. Worth in a single
breath.

"Soaked for ten days in the cooler," said Mr. Fobes, indifferently. By
which it will be understood that the village magistrate had imposed upon
the man a fine of ten days in jail.

"Well, who is he? Can we see him?" Worth continued rapidly.

"He's just a bum, I guess. I don't know him and--well, you can ask
Willie Creek whether I know everybody around here or whether I don't. He
was hanging around all Saturday afternoon and drinking. By night I had
to pinch him."

With a show of real interest Chief Fobes now heard the story Billy told
and the belief that the man in the lockup could throw light on the
disappearance of the Big Six. Slowly, very slowly, nevertheless, the
officer rose, yawned and led the way to the corridor below, so
conducting the boys to a group of steel cells in a basement at the rear
of the building. The man they sought was lying on an iron bunk. He
stepped forward when Mr. Fobes called sharply, "Here, you! Step up!"
quite as if the unfortunate were a refractory horse.

"Might I ask you a question?" began Billy. He and Paul were both keeping
pretty close to Mr. Fobes as the prisoner, still in the mud-stained
boots and garments, approached the bars.

"I'll do the talkin'," put in the officer bluntly. Then to the man who
peered out from the gloomy cell, "What was you doing on the South Fork
road last--last Friday?"

"I don't know anything about any South Fork road. What ye givin' us? I
come in here from Rochester, hittin' the road an' lookin' fer a job in
the