"Nothing on you, eh? Well, well, let's see." He regarded Garson
with a grin. "You are Joe Garson, forger." As he spoke, the
detective took a note-book from a pocket, found a page, and then
read: "First arrested in 1891, for forging the name of Edwin
Goodsell to a check for ten thousand dollars. Again arrested
June 19, 1893, for forgery. Arrested in April, 1898, for forging
the signature of Oscar Hemmenway to a series of bonds that were
counterfeit. Arrested as the man back of the Reilly gang, in
1903. Arrested in 1908 for forgery."
There was no change in the face or pose of the man who listened
to the reading. When it was done, and the officer looked up with
a resumption of his triumphant grin, Garson spoke quietly.
"Haven't any records of convictions, have you?"
The grin died, and a snarl sprang in its stead.
"No," he snapped, vindictively. "But we've got the right dope on
you, all right, Joe Garson." He turned savagely on the girl, who
now had regained her usual expression of demure innocence, but
with her rather too heavy brows drawn a little lower than their
wont, under the influence of an emotion otherwise concealed.
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