When Silas Keene, the New York detective, entered the bar-room, his glances met no familiar face. The tramp had been thoroughly described to Keene, so that he felt that he should know the fellow the moment his glances fell upon him.

The detective did not know that his man was on the lookout for him.

It will be remembered that a man had been listening through an open window to the conversation between the detective and August Bordine in the early morning.

That man was no less a personage than Andrew Barkswell, whose strong resemblance to the young engineer had so complicated affairs. He, of course, preferred to meet the detective in a way that the latter little suspected.

Keene sauntered into the card room, after partaking of a cigar.

While here watching the players, a hand touched his arm.

"Be you lookin' for somebody, mister?"

Keene looked into a dark, repulsive face, and at once recognized the man who had been described as the tramp, Perry Jounce.

"Yes," returned the detective.

"Who mout it be?"

Bending to the man's ear, Keene whispered the name of Barkswell.

"Loud o' liberty!" exclaimed Jounce, "I was expectin' him, too."

"When did you meet him last?"

"'Bout this time last night."

"Exactly; on a vacant lot—?"

"Eh?"

The tramp started and evinced alarm.

"Don't worry, old fellow," uttered the detective in a low voice. "I know all about it, my friend. You were to meet a gentleman here by appointment?"

"Yes."

"I am the man."

"You?" incredulously.

"Yes. Mr. Barkswell couldn't come, and so he sent me to take his place. I would like mighty well to see you in private for a few minutes."

"I kin fix that."

Jounce left the room, going to the bar-room for a minute. The detective didn't mean to lose sight of his man, so he managed to watch him from a convenient position behind the screen.

He saw him procure a key from Billy Bowlegs, and whisper something in his ear. Then he came swiftly back to his room beyond the screen.

"I'll find a quiet place whar we won't be disturbed, pardner," uttered Perry Jounce, at the same time leading the way to a small screen that seemed to be tucked back in the corner to be out of the way. Turning this, a narrow door was revealed.

Unlocking this, guide and detective passed through, and stood in total darkness.

The detective was resolved to learn from this man all he could about Andrew Barkswell before he placed him under arrest, and it was for this reason that he seemed to fall in with his wishes so condescendingly.

In the darkness, with the sound of the key grating in the lock as Jounce secured the door. Silas Keene became slightly nervous for the first time.

Might he not be walking into a trap? It was possible, and yet it did not seem probable, since this man could not know who he was.

Keene clutched the butt of his revolver with one hand and waited developments with considerable anxiety.

"Come on, pard."

Then Jounce led the way down a dark and narrow passage to another door, which he pushed open.

"Go in, boss."

The detective hesitated.

Noticing it the tramp strode on in advance, struck a match and lit a gas jet that stood out from the wall.

"A pokerish place," said Keene, as he followed Jounce into the room and gazed about him.

"Its private anyhow," returned the burly fellow with a laugh.

There could be no disputing this fact.

A round table occupied the center of a small room, with a chair on either side of it. A pack of cards and decanter of liquor occupied the center of the table, also a couple of glasses.

"Everything as snug's pigs in clover," chuckled Jounce. "This ere's the boss' private room, where he entertains peticler guests. Them as wants a private confab comes in here."

"Indeed."

One fact the detective noted, the room had no window, and was evidently entirely within the building. Not a sound from without, or from the barroom penetrated the place.

Jounce locked the door, an unnecessary precaution, the detective thought, and threw himself into one of the chairs.

"Sit down, pardner. We kin confab here without bein' disturbed, you bet yer buttons."

"I should think so," was the dry response.

"Help yerself to refreshments."

Jounce tapped the bottle with a dirty finger.

Keene, however, was wise enough not to indulge. He saw before him but one man, and if treachery was meditated, he believed himself a match for this one easily.

"Now, then, perceed."

"First, Mr. Jounce, we'd best come to an understanding," declared the disguised detective.

"Sartin, sir."

"You expected to meet my friend Barkswell tonight?"

"I did."

"For what purpose?"

"Didn't he tell yer?"

"It was about the payment of money?"

"Exactly."

"For what service?"

"Don't yer know?"

Jounce leaned his face between his hands and grinned.

"For the murder of the detective from New York, Sile Keene?"

"Putty nigh it; but you call it by a hard name, stranger. Did the kurnel send the rhino?"

"The colonel?"

"I mean Andy Barkswell, of course."

"He wanted to make sure that you had completed the job."

"Why, condum it, wasn't he thar? What more could he ax?"

"Nothing, so far as Keene is concerned."

"Wal?"

The detective realized that he was treading on dangerous ground, yet he resolved to risk it.

"It's about that other affair."

"The t'other affair?"

"Over at Ridgewood."

"What the Satan you drivin' at, pardner?"

"You ought to know."

"Speak right out plain, pardner, and don't beat about ther bush," growled the tramp, showing his teeth.

"Well, it's that little affair about the girl that died so suddenly over at Ransom Vane's. You haven't forgotten that, of course?"

"Of course not."

The ugly eyes of the tramp regarded the disguised detective in a way that was not pleasant.

Was the tramp really the guilty person in that tragedy? If so, how much or how little did Andrew Barkswell know of the affair? The letter that had been found with the dead girl would indicate that she had been on somewhat intimate terms with either Barkswell or Bordine. As yet Keene was not satisfied as to the identity of the two. He resolved to make a bold venture at the present time, and learn if possible what there was to know or at least how much the tramp knew on the subject.

"It seems that our friend Andrew isn't exactly satisfied with the way you bungled that job."

"How's that?"

"You left too many straws for the beaks to take hold of." A low, gutteral laugh was the only answer vouchsafed to this by Mr. Perry Jounce.

"You know the job was a botch?"

"I don't know nothin' about it."

"Well, anyhow, Andrew does, and he refuses to pay a cent until somebody goes up for the murder of that girl. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't!"

The eyes of the tramp still fixed themselves in an ugly glow on the countenance of Keene.

"Well, so long as the hounds are on the scent there's danger to Andrew, that to you must be plain enough; and danger to yourself as well. Now, why not fix the crime on some one, and thus make it safe for Andrew and you beyond peradventure? That is the plan, and until that is carried out my friend Barkswell doesn't propose to pay out any money."

"And he wants me to fix that thing of killin' the gal onto an innersent man."

"Exactly."

"Good land, what does he take me for?"

"A man who is ready to work on any line for money."

"Wal, when he pays me fur puttin' a head on Sile Keene, then I'll look to 'tother biz. But I hain't no fool, and I reckin' you ain't 'goin' cordin' to orders from Andy!"

"Why do you think so?"

"Because, sense he didn't kill the gal, why shu'd he keer 'bout gittin' someone else in the limbo. Partner, you ain't sharp."

"I may not be. Of course Andrew didn't kill the girl, but he knows who did, and—"

"Does he? Then somebody's peached."

"Not necessary. Andy Barkswell's not a fool, Mr. Jounce."

"No?"

The look on the tramp's face was comical in the extreme.

The detective believed the hour for action had come. He had been anxious to get from his companion a confession, but it seemed the fellow was too shrewd to give himself away.

"Of course he knows that you put the girl out of the world—"

"That's a lie."

"What?"

The detective was on his feet in an instant.

"I say that's a lie! I didn't tech a hair o' Victory Vane's head, but I know who did."

"Well?"

"I aint a-goin' to tell you, Sile Keene!"

The tramp came to his feet and bent threateningly across the table.

"Ha! you know me?"

The detective whipped out his revolver.

"Too late, pardner!"

There was a horrible grin on the face of Perry Jounce. On the instant an object shot from above full upon the head of Keene, and he sank lifeless to his chair!