He was a sullen looking chap, like and yet unlike the stranger whom, with his partner, Billy had briefly seen that day at Feeney's. His eyes, roving about, avoided Billy, while he apparently looked for some further loop-hole that might offer another chance to resist or afford a possible escape. "No good, old man," remarked Worth, standing over him with the tube in hand, ready for any move the bound man might make. "You've got to go with us." "Look here!" suddenly said the fellow. "We've got money--me and my partner. Why not turn us loose on the quiet? We'll make it all right--sure." "How do we know you'll make it all right? Didn't you shoot your own partner? He says you did. He calls you Dippy Quinn. That your name?" "Oh, that's nothing! I was reloading the pistol. It went off 'fore I knew a thing. That's the real goods, boy! As I said, he and me have the dough. Two hundred of it's yours, provided you'll turn us loose--on the quiet." "You're talking to no good, Quinn. I wouldn't be party to turning either you or Horr loose, not if you placed twice that amount in my hands right now." About this time Phil was seen coming, lugging what appeared to be a very heavy suitcase, evidently packed full of something that weighed about as much as Phil could carry. At sight of this the man seemed beside himself with anger. He almost spat in Billy's face as he declared: "You're both a dirty set of rogues! Yes, both of you! That," pointing at the packed bag, "is mine--mine and my partner's. We wasn't bothering you--" "Oh, no!" laughed Billy. "Come, that's good! All you did was to gag and tie me and try to steal our car. That's a mere nothing, of course." Phil, by this time arriving, seated himself at the wheel, putting the bag beside him. Then he looked warningly at Worth, saying: "Keep a sharp eye out, Billy. If he gets too obstreperous, just use the tube. If that don't quiet him, try his pistol." Then he started the car, steering carefully until they had turned round and were headed up the old road leading through the timber towards Feeney's. As the car bumped along over the rough places, Quinn seemed to be suffering greatly, his tightly bound ankles being the cause of his present misery. "Honest, boy," he began, "at least loose my legs! I sprained my ankle somehow in our scrap back yonder. Besides, there's a boil on my leg. Just loosen it up a bit--that's a good kid!" One would have supposed that with the previous experience they had had with this man, Billy would have given no heed. But Billy, naturally soft-hearted, saw real tears in the man's eyes. His looks and manner now were in such sharp contrast to that exhibited when he felt himself on the verge of an escape that even Worth felt a certain compunction. Could the man be shamming all the time, first in one way, then in another? With a side look at Phil, who was watching the road as he steered, he bent forward as he said: