“Beg pardon,” returned Bidwell, glibly. “It’s a case of life or death—man seriously injured.”
He attempted to rise, but before he could do so Bob had him by the arm.
“Stay where you are!” ordered the youth, determinedly.
“Let go of me, boy!” cried Bidwell, angrily.
“Not much! Police, police!”
The stout man arose slowly to his feet, and stared at Bob.
“What does this mean, young man?” he questioned.
“This man is a thief, and is trying to get away.”
“It’s not so,” put in Bidwell. “A man is dying, and I am running for a doctor.”
“He’s a thief I say,” went on Bob. “Will you call a policeman?”