About twenty minutes later a tall man in a long overcoat hurried across the street. He went straight to the waiting man. "Is that you, Bob?" he asked. "Is that you, Jimmy Wells?" cried the man in the doorway. "It is Bob, surely," said the tall man, taking his hands. "I was certain I would find you here if you were still alive. How has the West treated you?" "It has given me everything I asked for. You have changed a lot, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall." "Come on," said the tall man; "we will find a place and talk about old times." They started up the street, arm in arm. At the corner stood a drug store, bright with electric lights. In this glare each of them turned to look at the other's face. The man from the West stopped suddenly. "You are not Jimmy Wells," he said. "It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one," answered the tall man. "You have been under arrest for ten minutes, Silky Bob. Before we go to the station, here is a note from Patrolman Wells." Bob read the little piece of paper. The note was short: "Bob: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match, I saw the face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I could not do it myself, so I found a plainclothes man to do the job. — Jimmy."