"Ha! I told you they were regular rats for that sort of work," fumed Arnold Baxter.
"Don't let him go."
"Why not?"
"He may know too much. Bring him in here till I question him."
"Not much!" burst out Dick. "Help! Help!"
His cries came to a sudden ending as Buddy Girk clapped a large and somewhat dirty hand over his mouth.
"Run him in here, Jake," said the former tramp. "He is a fellow we have an account to settle with."
"Is dot so? Vell, I ton't vont me no troubles," answered the
German doubtfully.
"It's all right—he—he stole some of our money. That's right, in with him," and Dick was run into the room, after which Dutch Jake retired as suddenly as he had appeared. He was an elderly man, of a queer turn of mind, and, all by himself, occupied a garret room of the tenement.
As soon as the door was locked Arnold Baxter faced Dick. "Now will you keep quiet, or shall I knock you over with this?" he demanded, and raised a heavy cane he had grown into the habit of carrying since he had escaped from the hospital, on the very day that the authorities were going to transfer him to the jail at Ithaca.