“Well,” said Hodge, “we’ve run our game into a fine hole at last!”
“Still,” persisted Frank, “we have seen him do nothing criminal.”
“We’ve seen him do things that are evidence that he’s up to something crooked.”
“Not evidence.”
“Well, what do you want for evidence?”
“I want evidence. Instead of doing anything criminal, Hooker picked up a poor wretch on the street, and——”
“Took him into a saloon—into a low dive!” exclaimed Bart scornfully.
“No, he did not take the man there. The man persisted in going there, and it was plain to me that Hooker accompanied him with reluctance.”
“Well, that was not plain to me, if it was to you. I don’t see how you can hold onto him and pretend to think he is all right after what we have seen. His every movement since entering the shop of that old Jew has been that of a sneak and a crook. We have followed him to the worst quarter of the city, and have seen him enter one of the lowest dens in company with a drunken man. If that is the sort of chap you choose to associate with, Frank Merriwell, I am ready to confess that I don’t know anything at all about you.”
Never had Bart Hodge been more in earnest, and Frank realized that his companion was making a strong argument. Still, Merry was not satisfied, and he refused to throw Hooker over till he learned something more convincing against him.