“Here––here––put down that trunk,” spluttered Phelan, brandishing his club at Watkins. Watkins dropped the trunk and at a signal from his companion was gone. Swiftly and silently as he vanished, he could not have been half way to the door before the thief urged Phelan:
“Quick––go after that man––he’s a thief!”
“Stop Phelan!” cried Gladwin, who had begun to see through the pantomime. “They’re both thieves!”
Phelan tried to run four ways at once.
“W-w-what?” he gurgled.
“It’s a trick to get you out of the house,” said Gladwin with his eyes on the big man, who was calmly smiling and who had fully made up his mind on a magnificent game of bluff.
“What the blazes kind of a joke is this?” blurted Phelan, looking from one to the other in utter bewilderment.
“You’ll find it’s no joke, officer,” said the bogus Gladwin sharply––“not if he gets away.”
“You’ll find it’s not so funny yourself,” cut in the real Gladwin. Then to Phelan, “Arrest this man, Phelan.”