"Out with it!" Farland cried. "Tell the truth, you little crook! I want to know why you lied, who told you to lie. I want to know all about it, and mighty quick!" "I--I don't understand this," the merchant whimpered. "I was afraid of making a mistake." "You'll make a mistake right now if you don't tell the truth!" Jim Farland told him. "I--I got a letter, sir, by messenger. I got it early this morning, sir." "Well, what about it?" "The letter was typewritten, sir, and was not signed. There was a thousand dollars in bills in the letter, sir, and it said that a Mr. Prale had just been arrested for murder, and that he probably would try to make an alibi by saying that he was here last night and bought some clothes for another man. The letter said that I was to take the money and ask no questions, and that, if I was called to police headquarters, I was to say the man had not been here and that I never had seen him in my life before." "And you fell for it? You wanted that thousand, I suppose." "I'll show you the letter, Mr. Farland. There was no signature at all, and the paper was just common paper. I--I thought it was politics, sir." "You did, eh?" "Thought it had something to do with politics, sir. I thought the letter and money might have come from political headquarters. I was afraid to tell the truth at the police station." "You mean you have been so crooked for years that you're afraid of everybody who has a little influence," Farland told him. "I thought it was orders, sir, from somebody who had better be obeyed." "Oh, I understand, all right. Well, I scarcely think it was politics. You've been played, that's all. Get me that letter!" "Yes, sir." The merchant got it and handed it over, together with the envelope. He had told the truth. The letter was typewritten on an ordinary piece of paper, and the envelope was of the sort anybody could purchase at a corner drug store. Farland put the letter in his pocket. "Here between ten thirty and a quarter of eleven, was he?" "Yes, sir," said the merchant. "All right! You remember that, and don't change your mind again, if you know what is good for you. You'll hear from me in the morning. That's all!" Jim Farland went from the store with a grinning Murk at his heels, leaving a badly frightened small merchant behind him. "I know that bird," he told Murk. "He's a fence, or I miss my guess. It's no job at all to run a bluff on a small-time crook like that. And now we'll run down and see that barber." They engaged another taxicab and made a trip. Once more Murk remained outside, and Jim Farland entered and beckoned the barber to him. "Step outside the door where nobody will overhear," he said. "I want to ask you something." The barber stepped outside, wondering what was coming. This man knew Jim Farland, too, and he knew that a call from him might mean trouble. "Trying to see how far you can go and keep out of jail?" Farland demanded. "I--I don't know what you mean, sir."