Muldoon, who was on night duty this month and therefore had his days free, guided Whitford and his daughter to Maddock's. As they reached the house an express wagon was being driven away. Automatically the license number registered itself in Tim's memory. The policeman took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The three went up the stairs to the deserted gambling-hall and through it to the rear room. "From what Lindsay says the bullet holes ought to be about as high as his arm pits," said Whitford. "'Slim' must 'a' been standin' about here," guessed Muldoon, illustrating his theory by taking the position he meant. "The bullets would hit the partition close to the center, wouldn't they?" Beatrice had gone straight to the plank wall. "They're not here," she told them. "Must be. According to Lindsay's story the fellow was aiming straight at it." "Well, they're not here. See for yourself." She was right. There was no evidence whatever that any bullets had passed through the partition. They covered every inch of the cross wall in their search. "Lindsay must have been mistaken," decided Whitford, hiding his keen disappointment. "This man Collins couldn't have been firing in this direction. Of course everything was confusion. No doubt they shifted round in the dark and--" He stopped, struck by an odd expression on the face of his daughter. She had stooped and picked up a small fragment of shaving from the floor. Her eyes went from it to a plank in the partition and then back to the thin crisp of wood. "What is it, honey?" asked Whitford. The girl turned to Muldoon, alert in every quivering muscle. "That express wagon--the one leaving the house as we drove up--Did you notice it?" "Number 714," answered Tim promptly. "Can you have it stopped and the man arrested? Don't you see? They've rebuilt this partition. They were taking away in that wagon the planks with the bullet holes." Muldoon was out of the room and going down the stairs before she had finished speaking. It was a quarter of an hour later when he returned. Beatrice and her father were not to be seen. From back of the partition came an eager, vibrant voice. "Is that you, Mr. Muldoon? Come here quick. We've found one of the bullets in the wall." The policeman passed out of the door through which Bromfield had made his escape and found another small door opening from the passage. It took him into the cubby-hole of a room in which were the wires and instruments used to receive news of the races. "What about the express wagon?" asked Whitford. "We'll get it. Word is out for those on duty to keep an eye open for it. Where's the bullet?" Beatrice pointed it out to him. There it was, safely embedded in the plaster, about five feet from the ground.