"Too late," cried Alice Worthington.
"We have the office boy's evidence who saw you rifle his desk.
Touch that boy if you dare! He is under our protection! We obtained copies from the Western Union of all the last telegrams sent and received by my poor brother." "He plotted this robbery months ago, and sent all those as a mere decoy," faltered Ferris.

"I was merely holding them back to assist the police." Alice Worthington's lip curled in scorn.
"Why did you not search the roads to Cheyenne?
Why did you not send detectives over to Bay Ridge?
Why did you not reveal your secret find to the chief of police ?" Suddenly Ferris saw the jaws of the trap closing upon him.
"He has been murdered!" sobbed Alice.

"The money may have been hidden, the bank-book destroyed." "By some of the bank's people," hesitatingly said Ferris.
"You alone knew all of these details! You came here and secreted yourself at the time of the election," sternly answered the avenging Little Sister.

"You did not even sleep once in the rooms which you professed to share with him!" "I acted under your father's orders," boldly rejoined Ferris.
"He is dead; it is useless to say that! No one will believe you.
And you are lying to me now.

You know and I know that Randall Clayton was no thief.