now to have a scoundrel like Weasel Morrison undo it all is hard—hard! But, as you say, right is right, and we may come out of this better than we imagine, or hope for. I feel that the crisis is at hand. I'm glad. For years I have felt that it was coming, and there is a satisfaction in being rid of uncertainties and knowing just where I stand. I am not a coward, Lois, dear, and I know that you are not. Take your seat and be calm. It is necessary for me to talk to Mr. Ruthven."
The girl went back to her chair obediently. Her face was white, but resolute. Ruthven felt out of place. Some jealously guarded family secret had been touched upon, a secret that meant much to father and daughter, and he was sorry to have been the one to bring it partly into the light.
"Weasel Morrison was captured in Dry Wash?" McKenzie asked calmly.
"Yes," Ruthven answered. "A detective named Hackett has been trailing Morrison for weeks. He followed him to Dry Wash and called on Jenkins after the anonymous letter had been received. I had something to do with the capture that followed."
"Had Morrison committed any robbery in Dry Wash?" The words came tensely, and both McKenzie and the girl hung breathlessly upon Ruthven's answer.
"No, he was captured before he had committed any robbery there."
'"Thank Heaven for that!" murmured the man, and Lois sank back in her chair in visible relief. "Were the burglar tools found?" McKenzie asked.
"Yes, the detective has them."
'T wish—I am going to give you my confidence, Mr. Ruthven, and I hope you will be as frank with me—I wish you would tell us why you did not come back with Durfee, Harrington, and the others from Bluffton. You went on with Seventeen, that carried the package for Barton. Had you a particular reason?"
"I saw Morrison's face at a car window. I knew the man, and decided to follow him."
"Knew him?" queried McKenzie incredulously.
Ruthven told how he had encountered the Weasel in the Catskills. He went into the robbery there at some length, but carefully guarded the name of his former classmate, Howard Millyar. McKenzie and Lois read into this account something that struck a responsive chord in their own bosoms. Ruthven could see that by the swift, significant glances they exchanged.
"If you could do so much to protect a friend who was almost guilty," said McKenzie, "I am sure you will befriend me, innocent as I am and entirely a victim of circumstances. For you, Mr. Ruthven, I am going to tear in pieces the veil of mystery surrounding that express package. It goes deep; but all will come out, and I want you to have the right of it—for Lois' sake, even more than for my own." He turned to his daughter. "Please get that letter and the telegram, Lois," he requested.
The girl arose and went into another room. Ruthven fidgeted in his chair. He was uneasy, and yet he was deeply interested and curious. In what way was McKenzie concerned with the mystery of that Barton shipment? And how was Weasel Morrison involved? He was asking himself these questions when Lois returned with two sheets of paper, one white and the other yellow. With a steady hand McKenzie took them from her.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE TRAIL OF THE WEASEL.
I SUPPOSE Weasel Morrison had something to say about me, Mr. Ruthven?" said McKenzie.
"He told me to tell you he was on
