Without a single preliminary sound, Merriwell’s lithe body, launched from the thicket with a spring like that of a panther, struck the cashier full on the back, and the two crashed to the ground together. The shock knocked the revolver from the fellow’s hand, and, though he struggled hard, Dick had no difficulty in holding him down. Then he looked about him.
Archie had dropped the bag and was staring at the tangle of arms and legs in a dazed fashion. As he recognized Dick, he gave a shout of joy.
“Thank Heaven, you came in time, old fellow!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been an awful fool. He was just getting away with all the money.”
A look of triumph appeared on Joblots’ face.
“Ah! ha!” he muttered. “What did I tell you?”
“What money?” Dick demanded. “Quick, Archie! What are you talking about?”
His face was strained with the suspense of waiting.
“The money he stole from the Metropolis Bank two years ago,” McCormick answered eagerly. “He’s the thief. He’s the one who sent Jim to prison. He hid the money under the hearth, expecting to get it after everything was safe, but old man Hickey wouldn’t let him in. He came last night for it. I was awake and heard him slip downstairs. I followed him and saw him take up the stone to see if it was still there. After he had gone, I looked myself. There’s no doubt about it.”
Joblots listened with a growing expression of mortification and chagrin.
“Yah!” he snapped. “I don’t believe it! You stole that money from the Hartford bank two nights ago!”