“Well, I’ll prove it,” the thief intervened, and tossed the gun to Gladwin, who caught it as if it were something hot. “Go ahead and call them.”
“How do you know I wouldn’t call them?” the young man asked, examining the automatic and finding it empty.
“Don’t be a child,” shrugged the other. “You closed these doors, and you butted in about the ‘Blue Boy’ just as that Central Office owl produced his jewelry. Yes, and you stumbled against the chest and knew that I was in it.”
“But I say,” asked Gladwin, abruptly. “How did you come to use my name?”
“It wasn’t safe to use mine, and when I met Miss–––that girl––your name was in my mind––I borrowed it.”
“That’s the thing I can’t forgive you for,” said Gladwin, regretfully––“to deceive her as you did. That was rotten.”
“I don’t care for your opinion on that,” said the picture expert, warmly. “How can a man like you understand a man like me? It can’t be done. We’re further apart than the poles.”
“But you must see, Wilson––that’s the name, isn’t it?”
“It will do for the nonce, kind sir.”
“But you must see that the game is up. If you take my advice you won’t even try to escape.”