Around the corner of Carter, Dick Melvin’s two hands held Varrell’s shoulders hard pressed against the brick wall. “No, you don’t! It’s of no use to squirm, because I’m not going to let you off. This thing has got to be explained, and with it some other mysteries. The more I think about it, the more there is to explain. You knew what Phil and I were muttering when you were out of hearing in the next room; you heard what this blood-thirsty villain was whispering to Sands twenty-five feet away; you saw little Eddy in Bosworth’s room, talking about the safe, and you knew what he said. Sometimes you don’t know what is going on right beside you; sometimes you hear what two fellows are saying to each other across the street. No juggling, now! Out with the secret, and be quick about it, or I’ll—”
“You’re a fool, Dick,” retorted the smiling Wrenn, “or you wouldn’t have to ask me. Let me go, and I’ll come in after supper and tell you. Let me go, do you hear?”
“Well then, till to-night! If you’re not on hand by seven, I’ll come after you and squeeze the life out of you,—like this,” he added, catching poor Wrenn under the arms, and giving him a hug that threatened to crush in all his ribs at once.
“No more of that!” gasped Varrell. “I’ll come.”
CHAPTER XII
VARRELL EXPLAINS HIMSELF
“Here I am,” said Varrell, opening the door of Melvin’s room just as the clock struck seven. “You don’t deserve to see me, but I’m here. Assault me like that again, and I’ll swear out a warrant for your arrest.”
“A lot you know about warrants,” sniffed Melvin; “though that may also be one of your specialties. Whatever a warrant may be, it won’t catch you as I’ll catch you in five minutes, if you don’t make a clean breast of the whole thing without any jollying.”
“Wind!” said Varrell, in good-humored contempt. “You remind me of Tommy, when he talks about Montana.”
“Come, Wrenn, this is a wrong way to begin,” warned Melvin. “Get down to business! You agreed to explain yourself. Now, out with it.”