Jim Cummings | Page 6

edifice of facts. It is only the Messieurs La Coqs and 'Old Sleuths' of books and illustrated weeklies that are possessed with the second sight, and can hunt down the shrewdest criminals, without being bound to such petty things as clews, circumstantial evidence or witnesses. We American detectives can generally make 4 by putting 2 and 2 together, but we must have a starting point, and an old shirt or a pair of stockings, such as this robber threw away, may contain just what we need."
A knock on the door, and an employee of the office entered.
"Mr. Damsel, the entire road has been carefully searched, and no trace of the clothing can be found."
"That's bad," said Mr. Pinkerton, "we should have found that."
Mr. Damsel bade the employee to return to the office, and turning to Mr. Pinkerton, said:
"The case is in your hands. Do what you want, if any man can run that Cummings down, you can."
"Well, I'll take it. I should advise you first to have Fotheringham arrested as an accomplice. While I do not think he is one, he may be; at any rate it will lead the principals in the case to believe we are on the wrong track, but I must confess there don't seem to be any track at all, wrong or right."
"I will do that. I will swear out a warrant to-day against him."
Mr. Damsel took his leave, and that night Fotheringham slept behind iron bars.

CHAPTER IV
.
THE DETECTIVE AND THE MESSENGER.
After Mr. Damsel had left the hotel, Mr. Pinkerton sat in deep thought. He had carefully re-read Fotheringham's statement, but could find nothing that could be put out as a tracer; no little straw to tell which way the wind was blowing.
"Cummings, Cummings, Jim Cummings. By George, that can't be the Jim Cummings that used to flock with the Jesse James gang. That Cummings was a gray-haired man, while this Cummings is young, about 26 years old. Besides he is a much larger than Jesse James' Jim Cummings. That name is evidently assumed.
"This statement says he was dressed in a good suit of clothes, and wore a very flashy cravat. Furthermore, he bragged a good deal about what he would do with the money. Also that he would write a letter to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat exonerating the messenger. Well, a man who will brag like that, and wears flashy articles of neck-wear, is just the man that will talk too much, or make some bad break. If he writes that letter, he's a goner. There will be something in it that will give me a hold. The paper, the ink, the hand-writing, the place and time it was mailed--something that will give him away,"
"I must see this messenger, and I must see him here; alone. He may be able to give me a little glimmer of light."
To think with "Billy" Pinkerton was to act.
He pressed the annunciator button, and sitting down, wrote a short note to Mr. Damsel, requesting him to bring Fotheringham with him to his room.
The bell-boy who answered the call bore the note away with him, and in a short time, Mr. Pinkerton, looking out of his window, saw Mr. Damsel in his buggy drive up to the hotel accompanied by a young man, whom Mr. Pinkerton recognized from the description given him, as the unfortunate Fotheringham, who had evidently, as yet, not been arrested.
It took but a few moments for Mr. Damsel to reach Room 84, and after introducing Fotheringham to the detective, left him there.
Fotheringham wore a worried and hunted look. The black rings under his eyes told of loss of sleep, and his whole demeanor was that of a discouraged person. Still he bore the keen scrutiny of the detective without flinching, and looking him squarely in the eye, said:
"Mr. Pinkerton, don't ask me to repeat my story again. I have told it time after time. I have been cross-questioned, and turned and twisted until I almost believe I committed the robbery myself, tied my own hands and feet, put the gag in my own mouth, and hid the money some place."
Mr. Pinkerton did not answer him, but gazing at him with those sharp, far-seeing eyes, which had ferreted out so many crimes, and had made so many criminals tremble, took in every detail of Fotheringham's features, as if reading his very soul. Fotheringham leaned back, closed his eyes wearily, as if it were a matter of the smallest consequence what might occur, and remained in that position until Mr. Pinkerton spoke.
"Mr. Fotheringham, I don't believe you had anything to do with the robbery, except being robbed."
"Thank God for those words, Mr. Pinkerton," exclaimed the messenger in broken tones, the tears welling to his eyes. "That's the first bit of comfort I've had since the dastardly villain