His eyes dropped to it. "Will be on hand on arrival of Limited, (signed) Denver."
"We can't give you any receipt for him as you requested," continued Hepburn, drawing a paper out of his pocket; "but here's an acknowledgment that his capture is due to information furnished by you. I guess that will answer the purpose. You won't have any trouble getting the reward." He handed the paper to Carleton.
The super took it mechanically, and started as it crackled in his fingers.
"Now," said Hepburn briskly, "I don't want to appear abrupt, but there's a local East at two-twenty. We'll move along, Shorty. Good-by, Mr. Carleton. Next time you're in Denver look us up." He took Marley's arm and moved toward the door.
"Don't—tell her, Mr. Carleton"—there was a catch in Marley's voice, and the words came low.
Carleton did not answer. He was staring at the paper in his hand—Marley's price.
Regan had turned his back, with a hasty movement of his fist to his eyes.
"Don't tell her"—the plea came again from the doorway.
Carleton tried to speak and his voice broke, then he cleared his throat.
"She will never know, Marley," he said huskily.
