"And I don't know of any worse, except--the Cap.

And gun fighters, every one of them, too--nice odds, to say nothing of--" "Here's the Cap now!" announced one of the three.

"Hello, Cap, where'd you raise the mustache ?" Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a contemptuous and sardonic smile--the man who was coming up now and hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
The Cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tucked them in his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely.
"Never mind about the mustache," he said curtly.

"Get busy, the lot of you.

Stir around and get the works out!" "What for ?" inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferret-faced little man.