Bart walked rapidly back the way he had come. It was just a quarter of seven when he reached a half-street extending along and facing the railroad tracks for a single square. The Sharp Corner was a second-class groggery and boarding house, patronized almost entirely by the poorest and most shiftless class of trackmen. Its proprietor was one Silas Green, once a switchman, later a prize fighter, always a hard drinker, and latterly so crippled with rheumatism and liquor that he was just able to get about. Bart went into the place to find its proprietor just opening up for the day. The dead, tainted air of the den made the young express agent almost faint. As it vividly contrasted with the sweet, garden scented atmosphere of home, he wondered how men could make it their haunt, and was sorry that even business had made it necessary for him to enter the place. "Mr. Green," he said, approaching the bar, "I am looking for Lem Wacker. Can you tell me where I may find him?" "Eh? oh, young Stirling, isn't it? Wacker? Why, yes, I know where he is." He came out slowly from the obscurity of the bar, blinking his faded eyes. Bart knew he would not be unfriendly. His father, one stormy night a few years previous, had picked up Green half frozen to death in a snowdrift, where he had fallen in a drunken stupor. Every Christmas day since then, Green had regularly sent a jug of liquor to his father, with word by the messenger that it was for "the squarest man in Pleasantville, who had saved his life." Mr. Stirling had set Bart a practical temperance example by pouring the liquor into the sink, but had not offended Green by declining his well-meant offerings. Bart remembered this, and felt that he might appeal to Green to some purpose. "Mr. Wacker is not at home," he explained, "and I wish to find him. I understand he was here last night." "He was," assented Green. "Came here about ten, and hasn't left the house since." "Why!" ejaculated Bart--and paused abruptly. "He is here now?" "Asleep upstairs." "And he has been here since--he is here now!" questioned Bart incredulously. "He was, ten minutes ago, when I came down--" asserted Green. Bart stood dumbfounded. He was at fault--the thought flashed over his mind in an instant. It would not be so easy as he had fancied to run down the burglars, for if what Silas Green said was true, Lem Wacker could prove a most conclusive _alibi_. CHAPTER XVII A FAINT CLEW "What's the trouble, Stirling?" inquired Silas Green, as Bart stood silently thinking out the problem set before him. "You seem sort of disappointed to find Wacker here. If you didn't think he was here, why did you come inquiring for him?" "I knew he came here last night," said Bart. "Mrs. Wacker told me so." "Do you want to see him?" "No, I think not," answered Bart after a moment's reflection.