"Pile it on! pile it on!" growled Wacker. "You've got the upper hand, and you'll squeeze me, I suppose. All the same, those who stand back of me will take care of me or I'll explode a bomb that will shatter Pleasantville to pieces!"
Colonel Harrington shuddered at this palpable allusion to himself.
"And I'm going to sue the railroad company for my smashed foot. What do you want?"
"This, Mr. Wacker," pursued Bart quietly, "you have to-night committed a crime that means State's prison for ten years if I make the complaint."
"I'll have a partner in it, all the same!" remarked Wacker grimly.
The colonel groaned.
"You were after a package that belongs to a friend of mine," continued Bart. "I want to know why, and I want to know what you have done with that person."
"Don't you torture me!" cried Wacker irritably—"don't you let him," he blared out to the quacking magnate. "I won't say a word. Let Harrington do as he pleases. He's the king bee! Only, just this, Harrington, you take care of me or I'll blow the whole business."
"Yes, yes," stammered the colonel in a mean, servile way, approaching the litter, "leave it all to me, Wacker. Don't raise a row, Stirling," he pleaded piteously, "don't have him arrested, I'll foot the bill, I'll square everything. This matter must be hushed—yes, yes, hushed up!" hoarsely groaned the military man. "Oh, its dreadful, dreadful!"
Bart felt that he had matters in strong control, spoke a word to McCarthy and, when the ambulance came, allowed them to take Lem Wacker to the hospital.