“And I tell you I haven’t it and didn’t take it!” Ned repeated. “This is my room, and you’d better get out of it!”
“Not until I have my money! Where is it?”
He lifted a pillow from Ned’s bed. Under it were four one dollar bills which Ned had placed there before he went to sleep.
“Here’s part of it, anyhow!” the man exclaimed. “I want the rest now! Fork it over!”
“That’s my money!” cried Ned, as the red-moustached man took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.
“Your money! A likely story! Anybody with as much money as that would never stop in a place like this.”
“How did you happen to stop here then?” asked Ned quickly.
“Me? Why young impudence, I’m the proprietor of this lodging house! I live here! That’s why. Hey, Bill!” he called in a loud voice, “come here. There’s trouble.”
In answer to the summons a big man, evidently the night porter or watchman, came shuffling down the corridor.
“What’s the trouble, boss?” he asked, and Ned began to believe the man had spoken the truth when he said he was the proprietor of the place.