way to assist them--both on the railroad and in scouring the
country-side. They were absolutely and utterly played out, and their
nerves were jangled and snappy. No possible hiding-place had been
overlooked--yet the hobo--Dick Drinkwater--the one man who undoubtedly
held the key to the mysterious murder of Larry Blake--had disappeared as
completely as if the earth had swallowed him up.

The horses cared for, and supper over, Yorke and Redmond lay back on
their cots and _blague'd_ each other wearily anent their mutual ill-luck.
Slavin, critically conning over a lengthy crime-report on the case that
he had prepared for headquarters, flung his composition on the table and
leant back dejectedly in his chair.

"Hoboes?" quoth he, darkly, and tongue-clucked in dismal fashion. "Eyah!
I just fancy I can hear th' ould man dishcoursin' tu Kilbride av th'
merry, int'restin' ways an' habits av th' genus--hobo--whin he get's this
report av mine. . . . Like he did wan day whin he was doin' show-man
round th' cells wid a bunch av ould geezers av 'humanytaruns.' I mind I
was Actin' Provo' in charge av th' Gyard-room at th1 toime."

He sighed deeply, folded up the report and thrust it into an official
envelope. "Well, bhoys," he concluded, "we have done all that men
can'--for th' toime bein' anyways."

Yorke laughed somewhat mirthlessly and gazed dreamily up at his pictures.
"Sure have," he agreed languidly; "from now on, though, I guess we'll
just have to take a leaf out of Micawber's book--'wait for something to
turn up,' eh, Reddy, my old son?"

There was no answer. That young worthy, utterly exhausted, had drifted
into the arms of Morpheus.

CHAPTER X

_A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it._
SHAKESPEARE.

Number Six, from the East, drew up at the small platform of Davidsburg
and presently steamed slowly on its way westward, minus three passengers.

"Well, bhoys," said Sergeant Slavin to his henchmen, "here we are---back
tu th' land av our dhreams wanst more. Glory be! But I'm glad tu be
quit av that warrm, shtinkin' courthroom. Denis Ryan--th' ould rapparee,
he wint afther us harrd--in that last case. Eyah! But I thrimmed um in
th' finals. Wan Oirishman cannot put ut over another wan."

He softly rubbed his huge hands together. "Five years! That'll tache
Mishter Joe Lawrence tu go shtickin' his brand o