They came upon Bartlett leaving the office of the recorder with a glum and puzzled face. In his hand in a listless way he held some deeds which he had evidently been told were worthless.
The man was disguised, but Ralph knew him at once. The marshal stepped forward and seized his arm.
"Mr. Bartlett," he said sternly, "you are under arrest."
"Oh, you want me? What—er—for?" stammered the plotter.
"Conspiracy in the recent railroad strike," explained the official. "Pretty serious, too—not to mention that so-called accident you had on one of the cars, for which you wanted damages."
With a scowl on his face Bartlett turned and confronted Ralph.
"Ah, so it's you?" he growled.
"Yes," returned the young fireman, coldly.
"This is some of your work!"
"If so, it is at the request of the man you robbed, Bartlett."
"Eh?"
"I mean Gasper Farrington," answered Ralph, and this news caused the prisoner to turn pale and stagger back. He realized that he had come to the end of his plotting and must now suffer the consequences of his misdeeds. He was marched off
