“It’s my sympathetic nature struggling with an innate sense of justice,” he explained. “But justice triumphs. I know now why you made that mysterious trip to Hartford. On this scrap of paper placed providentially before my eyes—redeemed thus from the ignomy of being a mere wrapper of plebeian pickles, I see a horrible—an appalling—thing.” He paused again, dramatically, and Buckhart, exasperated beyond endurance, made a sudden dive for him. The slim chap leaped from the table and slipped around behind it. “Peace, creature!” he declaimed. “Listen to my news. The Second National Bank of Hartford was robbed last night of thirty thousand dollars in cold cash!” For a moment there was silence. Then a roar of laughter went up. “You’re pinched, Mac,” Dick gasped. “Desperate Desmond has found you out.” “Yes, bucko,” the Texan exclaimed; “better confess and divvy up the swag.” McCormick flushed a little, and the smile on his pleasant face grew a bit forced. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” he said, in a bantering tone. “I didn’t know he was so smart.” At that moment Merriwell, happening to glance at Percy Joblots, noticed that he was watching McCormick covertly, but with a strange intentness. In his eyes was that curious look of keenness which Dick had seen once before that night. But even as he looked, the expression disappeared and the dapper fellow’s face resumed its customary repose. “But, I thay!” he exclaimed, turning to Fitzgerald. “Thurely you don’t weally mean that?” The slim chap choked and turned red, but his face was quite serious. “Isn’t it an awful thing?” he questioned sadly. “I don’t think I shall ever recover from the shock.” Merriwell noticed McCormick’s distress, and it suddenly occurred to him that Archie’s only brother had been sentenced unjustly to a term in Sing Sing for embezzlement. Naturally the youth would think of him whenever the subject of bank robberies was broached, and he decided that the joke had gone a little too far. “Stop your nonsense, Fitz,” he said quickly, “and fry that bacon. You’ve been idling there quite long enough.” “But how about this robbery?” persisted Buckhart, who had become interested. “Did they get away?” “See for yourself,” Fitzgerald returned, tossing the paper to him. “I have work to do.” Brad caught the scrap of newspaper and carried it to the lamp. “Thirty thousand dollars,” he mumbled. “Regular professional job—confederate—traced to——By thunder, boys! They were traced to Middleberry. What do you think of that? Traced to Middleberry and then lost track of.”