"No wonder the women faint away, when you crowd round here so stupidly," said the officer, momentarily losing his temper. "Please step back, now, and let Mr. Wilkeson and me get out. We must leave for New York by the next train--and that starts in fifteen minutes." The detective referred to his watch. "Are you ready, sir?" tapping Marcus gently on the shoulder. Marcus rose, and displayed a face haggard with grief. They all whispered, or thought, "He is guilty." "I am ready," said he; "but I call heaven to witness that I know nothing of this crime." The detective bowed courteously, and then said: "I also have summons for Mr. Tiffles and Mr. Patching, gentlemen connected with this panorama, as witnesses. They will please step forward." "I am Mr. Tiffles," said that person. "Wesley is my panoramic name." This disclosure caused a small sensation. "I knew the man was a humbug from the start," whispered C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., to a friend at his elbow. "I'd like to prosecute him for swindling." "And I am Mr. Patching," exclaimed the artist, presenting himself. It should be here stated, that, when the disturbances of the evening first set in, Patching, in pure disgust at the bad taste of the audience, had quietly dropped himself out of the second story window at the rear of the stage, and had been skulking in the back lot ever since. Having heard, outside, of the arrest of Marcus Wilkeson, on an unknown charge, he had plucked up courage and friendship enough to reenter the hall, and tender his aid and consolation to that unhappy man. He came in just in time to hear his name called. "So that's the chap they called Chicory, or Checkerberry," whispered C. Skimmerhorn, Esq. "Anybody can see he is a swindler by his slouched hat, and beard. _Shouldn't_ I enjoy having a good case against him!" Pigworth, J. P., landlord of the United States Hotel, and Mr. Boolpin, proprietor, came forward with their little bills, and demanded immediate payment. This financial difficulty was arranged in one minute by the genius of Wesley Tiffles. After paying Stoop one dollar and a half (that excellent idiot crying, and vowing that he didn't want it), the rest of the proceeds, deducting enough for fares to New York, were divided equally between the two other creditors; and the panorama and all the appurtenances were left as a joint security for remaining obligations. The panorama was worth twice the debts, to be cut into window shades. After some grumbling, Messrs. Pigworth and Boolpin accepted the terms. Five minutes later, the polite detective and his party started for New York. There was a great number of people at the station to see them off, but only one to say "good-by." That one was the man-boy Stoop, who cried as if his great, simple heart would break. BOOK EIGHTH. A DRAMATIC INTERLUDE. CHAPTER I. THE OVERTURE.