tuck out."

"And his nose? Big or little? Heavy or thin?"

Haney considered that thoughtfully for a moment before he answered.
Then:

"Sort o' medium nose, Boss, with a point on it."

"And a thin face, naturally. How much did he weigh?"

"Oh, he was a little feller--skinny, you know. I reckon he didn't
weigh no more'n a hundred an' twenty-five or thirty."

Some germ had been born in the fertile mind of Mr. Birnes; now it
burst into maturity. He leaned forward in his chair and stared
coldly at Haney.

"Perhaps," he suggested slowly, "perhaps he had a scar on his face?"

Haney returned the gaze dully for an instant, then suddenly he nodded
his head.

"Yes, a scar," he said.

"From here?" Mr. Birnes placed one finger on the point of his chin
and drew it across his right jaw.

"Yes, a scar--that's it;" the prisoner acquiesced, "from his chin
almost around to his ear."

Mr. Birnes came to his feet, while the official police stared. The
chief sat down again and crossed his fat legs.

"Why, what do _you_ know, Birnes?" he queried.

"I know the _man_, Chief," the detective burst out confidently. "I'd
gamble my head on it. I knew it! I knew it!" he told himself. Again
he faced the tramp: "Haney, do you know how much the diamonds you
had were worth?"

"Must 'a' been three or four hundred dollars."

"Something like fifty thousand dollars," Mr. Birnes informed him
impressively; "and if you got fifty thousand dollars for your share
the other man got a million."

Haney only stared.

CHAPTER XIII

MR. CZENKI APPEARS

Half an hour later Mr. Birnes, Chief Arkwright and Detective Sergeant
Connelly were on a train, bound for Coaldale. Mr. Birnes had left
them for a moment at the ferry and rushed into a telephone booth.
When he came out he was exuberantly triumphant.

"It's my man, all right," he assured the chief. "He has been missing
since Friday night, and no one knows his whereabouts. It's my man."

It was an hour's ride to Coaldale, a sprawling, straggly village
with only four or five houses in sight from the station. When the
three men left the train there, Mr. Birnes walked over and spoke to
the agent, a thin, cadaverous, tobacco-chewing specimen of his
species.

"We are looking for an old gentleman who lives out here somewhere,"
he explained. "He probably lives alone, and we've been told that he
has a little cottage somewhere over this way."

He waved his hand vaguely to the rig