“I say it’s not so,” ejaculated Hockley, growing red at being exposed. “You sent for my valise and robbed that, too. I can prove you sent for it by the proprietor of the Hotel Ziroda.”
At this shot Dan Markel grew pale. He felt that he was cornered and that a visit to the police station would do much to prove his guilt. He had left the watch behind him, but he had Hockley’s money—or the larger portion of it—on his person, and he did not know but that some of the bills could be identified.
“It—it’s all a mistake,” he faltered.
“You come to the police station with us,” said Professor Strong, quietly but sternly.
Dan Markel looked around. There seemed no way of escape and his face fell.
“All right, I’ll go with you,” he said, although he had no such intention. “But let me tell you that you are making a big mistake, and that you’ll have a suit for damages on your hands.”
“I’ll risk the suit,” returned the professor, grimly.
All marched out of the bodega, much to the astonishment of the proprietor, who had not understood a word of what was said. On the corner they paused.
“There ought to be a policeman somewhere——” began Professor Strong, when without warning, Dan Markel tore himself loose and leaped into the street. Several carriages were passing and in a twinkling he had darted between these and was running for an alleyway not far distant.
“He’s running away!” burst out Hockley. “Come on after him!” And he started to follow, and so did the others. But the street was so crowded that it took several seconds to gain the other side, and by that time Markel was out of sight.