"That Snaith is only one of the gang--the stool-pigeon--or, in this case, the lounge-lizard--who collects the information and passes it on to his chief? Exactly. Now, having Mr. Snaith where I want him and knowing pretty well how to deal with his breed, I think the rest will be easy. I knew that somebody in the postmaster's office must be mixed up in the affair and your very astute friend was the most likely prospect. Congratulations on landing him so neatly!" "Thanks," said the girl, "but what next?" "For you, not a thing. You've handled your part to perfection. The rest is likely to entail a considerable amount of strong-arm work, and I'd rather not have you around. Might cramp my style." That night--or, rather, about three o'clock on the following morning--Sylvester Snaith, confidential secretary to the postmaster of Madison, was awakened by the sound of some one moving stealthily about the bedroom of his bachelor apartment. Before he could utter a sound the beam of light from an electric torch blazed in his eyes and a curt voice from the darkness ordered him to put up his hands. Then: "What do you know about the anonymous letters which have been sent to a number of persons in this city?" demanded the voice. "Not--not a thing," stammered the clerk, trying to collect his badly scattered senses. "That's a lie! We know that you supplied the information upon which those letters were based! Now come through with the whole dope or, by hell I'll--" the blue-steel muzzle of an automatic which was visible just outside the path of light from the torch completed the threat. Snaith, thoroughly cowed, "came through"--told more than even Allison had hoped for when he had planned the night raid on a man whom he had sized up as a physical coward. Less than an hour after the secretary had finished, Elmer was on his way to Kansas City, armed with information which he proceeded to lay before the chief of police. "'Spencerian Peter,' eh?" grunted the chief. "Sure, I know where to lay my hands on him--been watching him more or less ever since he got out of Leavenworth a couple of years back. But I never connected him with this case." "What do you mean--this case?" demanded Allison. "Did you know anything about the poison-pen letters in Madison?" "Madison? No--but I know about the ones that have set certain people here by the ears for the past month. I thought that was what you wanted him for. Evidently the game isn't new."