“We got you, mister!” he asserted. “Hand over that manuscript!”
The man pulled angrily away. He was powerfully built, with a close-cropped head of chestnut colored hair. Ken and Willie moved in close, cutting off all possible escape.
“Manuscript!” the stranger exclaimed. “What are you blubbering about anyhow? What’s the big idea?”
“You know well enough!” War accused. “You took that translation from our hotel table just now!”
“Say, are you kids crazy?”
“We want those papers,” War insisted. “Hand ’em over!”
“You little hoodlum, you!” the man snarled. “If you don’t stop pawing in my pants pocket, I’ll sock you! I’ve had enough of this!”
“Maybe you can explain what you were hiding by this evergreen,” Willie suggested pointedly.
“Well, jar my rigging! You kids have got bats in the belfry! I was looking for my wristwatch.”
“Your wristwatch!” War said scornfully, “That’s good!”