s," said the bartender.

"I'm not asking you to give anybody away. I merely asked you to answer
my questions."

"Well, go ahead and ask them. I will answer them if I can."

"Was Black Madge in the saloon downstairs when you were there?"

"Yes. She was."

"Has she been in the habit of coming here frequently of late?"

"I can't tell you for certain about that. You know, I'm on duty in the
daytime, and people of her kind come only at night."

"Answer my question," said the detective sternly. "You know the answer
to it, and you understand that I know you do."

"Well, I guess she's been in most every night for the last week."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"No."

"Do you know any of the gang that is traveling with her?"

"Yes; I guess I know most of that bunch."

"Well, Phil, I want you to tell me their names; every one of them. That
is, every one that you are certain forms one of her gang."

"There ain't anything certain about it, Carter. I'll tell you that on
the level. All I know about her and her gang is guesswork. But if I was
asked to mention them I should say that, judging from appearance, there
is about eight of them. Besides, Madge has got something up her sleeve,
but what it is I haven't an idea. It looks to me, though, as if they
were getting ready to crack some pretty big crib, and make the haul of
their lives. Now, if you're on to that lay, and your only purpose is to
prevent them doing it, so that I ain't telling you anything that will go
for putting them behind the bars, I will be on the level and tell you
all I know."

"You will have to tell me, anyhow, Phil," returned Nick quietly. "If you
don't do it willingly, I know of more than one way to compel you to do
it. However, you may rest easy upon the point you have made. I am not at
the present moment seeking to put any of them behind the bars; only
Black Madge herself. She has got to go there, whether you talk to me or
not."

"Well," said the bartender, "she don't cut any ice with me, anyhow.
She's too stuck up for my kind."

"All right," said Nick; "tell me the names of those eight men."

"There's Slippery Al, Surly Bob, Gentleman Jim, Fly Cummings, Joe
Cuthbert, Eugene Maxwell, and The Parson. Oh, and there's Scar-faced
Johnny; I forgot him. Now, I'll leave it to you, Carter, if that ain't a
likely bunch."

"And they were all in the room downstairs to-night," murmured the
detective meditatively.

"What!" exclaimed the bartender i