“Well, what are you going to do?” he inquired presently, in a listless voice.
“Pinch him,” returned the detective tersely. “I’ve been holding off in hopes of getting his pals. Thought he telegraphed ’em this morning, but he didn’t. The agent wouldn’t tell me what was in the message he sent, but I did find out that the reply came from Bloomfield. It ain’t likely his pals are there. It’s too far away.”
Dick caught his breath suddenly.
“Bloomfield!” he exclaimed, and then was silent.
Bloomfield was where his brother Frank’s school was located. Just now Archie McCormick’s brother, the one who had served a term in State’s prison, happened also to be there. What did it all mean? Why was Archie telegraphing to Jim? His thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by the detective’s voice.
“Well,” he said briskly, “what are you going to do, help me or hinder me?”
“Neither one or the other,” Merriwell said shortly. “I can’t hinder you, and I certainly don’t propose to help you arrest a friend of mine, especially when I don’t believe he’s had anything to do with this robbery.”
“That’s all rot,” Joblots said quickly. “The thing’s as good as proved. Well, I’ve got to get busy. There ain’t no time to waste.”
He started on toward the edge of the woods, Dick following him listlessly. His mind absolutely refused to credit the truth of the detective’s assertions, even with the proof seemingly as unassailable as it was. He would not believe that Archie was a thief. There must be some other explanation of his peculiar actions.
Suddenly Joblots, reaching the fringe of trees which bordered the field, stopped short.